


Land of Make Believe

by HanksLady



Category: Joker (2019), Taxi Driver (1976)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 49,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanksLady/pseuds/HanksLady
Summary: Travis finds himself in Arkham 5 years after the events in Taxi Driver. There he meets Arthur, a self-confessed killer. But nothing is what it appears. When the pair get to know each other, they realise the ticket out of the asylum is telling the councillors what they want to hear, which in some ways is the truth. Written from Travis's POV.
Relationships: Travis Bickle/Arthur Fleck
Comments: 46
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

"This will be your room for the duration." An orderly in blue scrubs opened a door for me and gestured to me to walk inside.

"Don't you mean cell?" I stepped through the door into the white room. Everything was white—the walls, the tile floor, the bedding on the narrow bunk, the chest of drawers, and the chair in the corner. I looked down at myself. I supposed I would blend in. The inmates' uniforms consisted of white cotton trousers, white shirts with short sleeves, and white slippers.

"The doors are only locked at night," the orderly reminded me. "This isn't prison."

"It may as well be. I can't walk out the front door and go back to driving my taxi." Grimacing, I sat on the edge of the bed. How had I ended up in a mental hospital? Even Iris's father praised me for getting his little girl home to him, and yet when I recovered from the gunshot wounds that almost killed me, I was pronounced insane by a judge and sentenced to seven years "rehabilitation." Five years on, and the fire at the facility in New York had shut down an entire wing. Those with less than six months to go were released early, and the remainder were shipped out to other hospitals that had room. I, along with two others, found ourselves in Arkham in Gotham City. I could have got out early, if I'd let go of my principals and told the councillors what they wanted to hear, but I hadn't been able to bring myself to do it. Maybe I should have.

The orderly closed the door and left me alone. I got up and checked out the drawers in the chest. The top one contained white boxer shorts and socks. The middle one had spare shirts and trousers in, and the bottom one held some towels—white, of course.

The room held nothing else of interest. I peered out of the window between the metal bars on the outside. The building was surrounded by large lawns, some trees, benches to sit on, and a ten-foot-high metal fence enclosing it all, with cameras set at intervals to make sure none of the not-prisoners escaped.

I tried the door to check whether the orderly had been telling the truth about not locking me in. It opened onto the white tiled corridor I'd been led down minutes earlier. I slipped out and shuffled along in my slippers, passing several doors identical to mine. Each had a small window about six inches square, made from reinforced glass. I glanced through a couple of them but discovered the rooms behind them to be empty. Perhaps the occupants were in the garden or taking part in some of the activities I'd been told about.

I turned a corner and passed another orderly, leading a middle-aged woman in the same outfit as mine. He nodded in my direction, while the woman hung her head, muttering, and ignored me.

One corridor led into another. I walked aimlessly, uninterrupted by staff or other patients when I passed them. When I came to a door leading to the outside, it opened but a bell sounded. I almost expected someone to stop me as I passed through, but then a whirring noise drew my attention to the camera on the wall above my head. They were watching me, probably from an office somewhere. Unable to stop myself, I gave the camera the finger before I headed across the grass to find somewhere to sit.

The first bench I came to was occupied by two women. One smiled in a sort of flirty way, while the other cringed, eyes wide. I shot them a brief smile and carried on walking. As I found another seat, a man of about my age, or maybe a couple of years older, came to it from the other direction. He paused, eyes wide, as I made to sit down.

"Oh! Um, I'll, um, I'll just—" he stammered, flushing, and backed away.

"Hey. You can sit here." The seat was at least long enough for three or four people. I sat close to one end.

"I wouldn't be bothering you?"

"No." I took in his tangled collar-length brown hair and anxious green eyes, under which dark circles shadowed his hollow cheeks. His white shirt hung from angular shoulders, and his skinny arms were marked here and there with small healing cuts. His white trousers were baggy and loose—more so than mine.

Cautiously, he took a step forward, then another. He scrubbed a hand up and down one cheek, then ran long thin fingers through his hair. Finally, he sat down at the other end of the bench. "My name's Arthur."

"Travis." The inmates hadn't been allowed to mingle in the New York facility. I'd stayed in my room virtually all the time for five years. This was a luxury—walking in the garden and having someone to talk to. "How long have you been here?" I asked.

"I forget."

"A year? Five?" I suggested.

"I don't know. A year, maybe. Yes, I think that's right. You're new. I haven't seen you here before."

"I arrived less than an hour ago."

He nodded. "What did you do?"

"You mean, to get in here?"

"Yes."

"Well, I was in a hospital in New York previously. Do you get to watch the news in here?"

"Yes."

"Did you see anything about the one that had the fire?"

Arthur nodded again. "Were you there?"

"Yeah. I was there five years. I have two years to go, so they sent me here."

"Did you start the fire?"

I grinned. "I wish. No, it was accidental. Something happened in the kitchen."

"Oh. What did you do to get in the New York hospital? Are you crazy?"

"I don't think so. People just don't understand me. I did some stuff. I helped some people. The cops didn't appreciate that." I dodged the question for the second time.

"People don't understand me either. They say I'm crazy. Maybe I am." He brushed his fingers across his lips. "I wish I could smoke. I used to smoke before. I miss it."

"Me too. What did you do, Arthur?"

"Did you see any news about Gotham?"

"No. We didn't get to watch TV in the New York hospital."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I killed some people." He glanced at me and giggled. So, he'd done the same thing I had. The giggle quickly became guffaws of laughter, verging on hysterical. He clamped his hands over his mouth and shook his head, choking as he tried to hold in the laughter.

Startled, I sat and waited for him to stop. When he finally did, he was left gasping for breath, red-faced and wide-eyed. He pulled himself to his feet.

"Where you going?" I frowned up at him.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." He walked away, skinny arms wrapped around himself, head down.

I scratched my head and watched him go. Perhaps he was right, and he was crazy. Only a crazy person would laugh like that, wouldn't they? There had been plenty of them in New York. In the dead of night, I had sometimes heard wild laughter echoing down the corridors from one of the other cells.

I sat alone for a while, losing track of time as I lost myself in my thoughts. I tried to think about other things, but Arthur kept coming back to the forefront of my mind. I was starved of company; of human interaction. Five years without even a conversation other that with my doctor and councillors. Five years without a smile or a touch. I didn't know anything about Arthur, but he was the first person in here to speak to me, and suddenly I wanted to know all about him. I pictured him as he'd sat beside me—skinny and gaunt, shy and awkward, with those wide green eyes and tangled brown hair. My pulse quickened a little and I rolled my eyes at myself. I must be desperate to think about someone who was probably crazier than me in that way. But I couldn't help it. I was too lonely; too alone.

"Hello." A soft voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I looked up at the blonde woman who'd smiled at me as I passed her and her companion earlier.

"Hey."

"May I sit with you?"

"Sure." I nodded and shrugged at the same time.

She smiled again and sat down. "What's your name? I'm Stephanie."

"Travis."

"It's nice to meet you, Travis. You're new, aren't you?" She flashed even white teeth and fluttered long lashes over blue eyes.

"Yeah."

"What are you in for?"

I hesitated. The flirty look she gave me earlier hadn't been imagined. She had already edged a few inches nearer to me along the bench, and even now she was giving me another winning smile.

"You don't have to tell me," she went on before I could speak. "Not that it would bother me. This is an asylum, after all. We get all sorts. Me—well I tried to kill myself. Nine times. Obviously, I'm not very good at it." She laughed. "Thank goodness. Or I wouldn't have met you." She shuffled closer. "The patients aren't supposed to touch each other, but you can get away with it in certain places. There are a few blind spots from the cameras. You get to know where they are."

"Huh, well, I'm not much into touching and getting up in people's space." I edged away a couple of inches, which was as much as the arm of the seat would allow.

"Really? Most people are desperate for it in places like this. Unless they're rape victims. You're not, are you?"

"Hell, no. I'm gay," I blurted. I wasn't, I liked both, but despite my desperation for human contact, I didn't like pushy, gushy women. Even after five years alone, I'd still rather have to chase them.

"Oh!" She giggled. "Oh dear. I suppose you must be immune to my charms then. What a shame. You're so cute, too."

"I'm not cute," I grunted, embarrassed.

She giggled more. "You were talking to that weird Arthur before, weren't you? You need to watch your back around him."

"Why?"

"He killed his mother. You know, a man who can kill his own mother could kill anyone. He might kill you."

"I doubt that." I frowned. Arthur killed his mother? He said he'd killed "people." Apparently, this was something he told anyone he talked to. "Besides, we have something in common."

"You killed your mother too?" Stephanie's eyes widened, and she backed off a little.

"No." I laughed. "Just some scum that were hurting a little girl."

"Oh, that's all right then. If you did that, why are you in here? Surely you did a good thing."

"Her father thought so. The powers that be didn't."

"There's no justice these days." She shook her head and frowned. "You should have got a medal."

A bell rang, and I remembered I'd been told by one of the staff when I arrived that a bell would signify meals, or bedtime.

"That's for dinner." Stephanie stood up. "I'll see you later, Travis." She walked off towards the building.

I stayed where I was, thinking. Why would Arthur kill his mother? Why would anyone kill their mother? I could never have imagined hurting mine.

The bell rang again, and I hauled myself up. I wasn't hungry, but I supposed it would be a chance to meet a few other people.

The dining room was all white, just like everything else. It was a kind of canteen-like set-up. I grabbed a tray and joined the line of people waiting to get their meals. There was no choice in what you had—it was sausage, mashed potatoes, and peas. There were vegetarian sausages available, but other than that, you had to take it or leave it. I took a plate along with a carton of orange juice and looked around for somewhere to sit. Each table seated four people, and several were full. Alone at one table in the corner, Arthur sat, staring at a sausage he had speared with his fork. I walked over.

"Hey, Arthur. You mind if I sit here?"

He jerked his head up and dropped his fork on the plate, startled. He stared up at me, a rabbit caught in the headlights. I was about to tell him not to worry and walk away, when he rubbed a hand over his face, then nodded. "You really want to sit with me?"

"Sure." I sat. "Don't you ever have company?"

"No. The others here think I'm weird."

"You seem pretty ordinary to me. Maybe it's them that's weird."

Arthur's thin lips twitched a little but didn't manage to stretch into a smile. I dug my fork into the mashed potatoes and tasted them—not too bad. Stephanie walked past, accompanied by the woman she'd been sitting with earlier, and shot me a smile. The pair sat down at another table.

"She likes you," Arthur said.

"Maybe."

"She likes everyone. Men, I mean. Except me." He shrugged. "I'm used to that—people not liking me. Why did you want to sit with me, Travis?"

"Well, I might like you if I got to know you. You want to give it a shot?"

He nodded solemnly. "It'd be nice, having someone to talk to."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis spends some time talking to Arthur, but how much of what Arthur tells him is the truth?

I ate my meal quickly, realising I was hungry after all. The food wasn't too bad. Arthur picked at his, slowly nibbling the one sausage he had stuck on his fork. It was clear from his appearance he didn't eat enough, and I wondered about the cuts on his arms. How did he get them in a place like this, where there were no sharp objects? Even the knives and forks we ate with were plastic. I considered asking him about it but thought I might upset him. I put my knife and fork down and rested my elbows on the table. "Aren't you hungry?" I ventured.

He shrugged, and put his fork down too, with one bite of sausage left on the prongs. "Not really."

"You're very thin."

"Why do you care?"

"I don't know. We just met. I'm curious, I guess."

"Maybe I'll tell you about it some time." He pushed his plate away. I eyed the untouched sausage. "You can have it if you want," he added. "Shame for it to go to waste."

I picked up my fork again and stabbed the sausage, then bit into it. "Why don't you tell me something about yourself?" I suggested.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. What were you like before?"

"Before what?"

"This." I gestured at the room with my free hand. "Before you did the things that got you in here."

"I was just—" He ran his hands through his hair. "I was a clown. A party clown. I used to entertain kids in the hospital and at private parties. I was gonna be a stand-up comedian. I did this show—" Suddenly, his face lit up. "It was at a comedy club called Pogo's. Do you know it?"

I shook my head. Clearly, he'd forgotten I came from a hospital in New York and hadn't seen anything of Gotham.

"I was so nervous, but it was great. The audience loved my jokes. I felt like a star when they all applauded."

"That's great, Arthur. Can you tell me a joke?"

"Um—" His smile disappeared, and his brows drew together as he concentrated. "I used to write all my jokes in a journal, so I didn't forget them. Oh, wait. Here's one. How can you spot a blind man in a nudist camp? It ain't hard."

I snorted.

"Of course, I couldn't use that one in the club. It's too risqué. They like sexy jokes, but not too sexy."

"I bet you put on a good show."

"Sophie liked it. That was the main thing."

"Who's Sophie?"

"My, um, she was my—" He stopped and shook his head. "We had a date. She was very sweet. She came to the hospital to sit with me when my mother was sick."

Stephanie's words came to mind. "He killed his mother." Had he? Did she make that up, or did he? "That's good. She your girlfriend?" I asked.

"Not anymore." His face fell and he stared down at the table.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out. What happened?"

"I don't know. It's sort of fuzzy. I guess she didn't like me after all."

I remembered Arthur telling that women didn't like him, and I supposed Sophie must have been the exception, at least for a while. So, he was straight. Inwardly, I shrugged. It wasn't as if anything could happen anyway. I still had two years to go, unless I turned things around and made them believe I wouldn't be a danger to the criminal element of Gotham if they let me out. God knew how long Arthur had to stay. There was no chance, even if he liked me. Although from what Stephanie said, you could get away with it if you were careful.

"Did you have a girlfriend?" Arthur's voice broke into my thoughts. "You know, on the outside."

"No. I had one date in New York. She was called Betsy. I messed up and she wouldn't talk to me after that. I sent flowers and she sent them right back."

"What did you do? Why didn't she like you?"

"I took her to see a porn movie."

Arthur's eyes widened, then much to my surprise, he grinned. "What didn't she like about it? Everyone likes sex, don't they?"

"Maybe she liked it in person, I don't know. I never got to find out. She sure didn't like it in the theatre. I think she was embarrassed. And shocked."

Arthur continued to grin. "I'd have been embarrassed too, but I'd still have liked it. I used to have some, um, videos." His mouth fell open, as if he realised what he'd said. Colour rushed into his face and he glanced around furtively, checking if anyone was looking. I checked too, and they weren't. "I shouldn't have said that," he whispered.

"You can say what you want." I shrugged one shoulder. "Obviously, I liked it. It was all the action I saw, for the most part. You said earlier that women don't like you. Well, they weren't keen on me either. Trouble is, if you're not experienced, they make you feel like an idiot."

Arthur nodded. "Shame we can't just date men. It'd be easier because they get it."

I stared at him, surprised again. "Would you?" I said carefully. "If most of the country wasn't so damn homophobic?"

"Maybe. I guess it's no different than playing with your own dick, really. It's just, it's somebody else's." He clamped his hands over his mouth and mumbled, "Oh shit. You should really tell me to shut up." A muffled laugh escaped from behind his hands. He lifted them to drag his fingers through his hair, wild laughter bursting out.

"Arthur—" I glanced around. Most of the other inmates were ignoring us, except for Stephanie, and I supposed they must be used to Arthur. An orderly was watching, a frown on her face. "Arthur, come on. Shh. Stop."

He laughed more, hysterical, clutching at his throat as if it were choking him. When it finally subsided, he was left gasping, trying to suck in air. "I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "I have a c-condition. The laughter. It's uncontrollable and doesn't match how I f-feel. Sometimes I want to cry, but I laugh."

"Do you know what causes it?"

"A brain injury."

"Is that what you had?"

"Mr Bickle." The orderly appeared at my side. "I think it's time we went back to our room now."

I looked up at her frowning face. "We? You want to join me?"

Her frown deepened.

"I was just talking," I added.

"You're upsetting Arthur."

"He wasn't, Miss Angela. He's nice. Please." Arthur scrubbed at his cheeks. "Don't take him away. I like talking to him."

After a moment, she relented. "Very well. I'll be watching." She walked away.

"Bickle?" Arthur looked at me. "Your name is Bickle?"

"Yeah. Travis Bickle."

He chuckled, a genuine laugh this time. "I suppose it's better than Fleck. I hate my name."

"Well, Arthur's a good name." I smiled at him. "So, I'm nice?"

"You're talking to me. No one else does."

"I like to talk. Do you want to go for a walk? Are we allowed?"

"Sure. It's not prison. Only at night." Arthur shoved back his chair noisily and stood up. I followed as he took his plate and plastic cutlery to a table where other items had begun to pile up. Then we went outside. "I hate it here at night," he continued as we walked away from the building.

"Why?"

"We're locked in. I don't like being trapped. I get scared sometimes. You can hear things. Crazy people." He gave a short laugh. "Sometimes that's me. They don't let you out until six in the morning."

"What happens if you need the bathroom?" That was always one of the first things I thought of. It stemmed from the shit school I went to when I was a little kid. The teacher wouldn't let us leave class until break, and I pissed myself in front of thirty other kids more than once.

"You have to press the buzzer above your bed, and they come and escort you there. I usually don't drink anything in the evening. Then I don't have to go."

"I'll remember that. They should have commodes in the rooms."

"I suppose. What room are you in?"

"Forty-seven." I remembered seeing the number stuck on the door.

"I'm next door in forty-eight." Arthur smiled again. "It won't be so bad if you're next door."

"I suppose not." I wasn't looking forward to being locked in either, but it had to be better than a real prison. I'd spent a few nights in a cell in New York, before they decided what to do with me.

We walked towards the fence bordering the property and followed it around. Every so often, we passed a camera and I wondered if someone was watching us right now. Arthur fell silent and folded his arms around his body. He scratched at one of the small scars on his forearm, picking at the end of a narrow scabby line.

"Hey, don't do that. You'll make it bleed."

"Yeah." He dropped his arms to his sides.

"How did you get them? The cuts."

"I, um, I—" He stiffened, and his head jerked from side to side as he gazed about him. Suddenly, he pointed to a bush. "From that."

"You fell in the bush?"

"Yeah."

I dropped it. I sensed he wasn't telling me the truth, but even after knowing him such a short time, I could see he was getting upset. "Okay," I said. "You should be more careful. So, what do you do in here? Do they let you watch TV or anything?"

"Yes, there's a games room. It has a TV and some tapes. There are some board games, jigsaw puzzles, stuff like that. I like to play chess."

"Me too. We could have a game some time."

"Sure, but we'd have to improvise with the white Queen. Stephanie swallowed it one time. She was trying to choke herself."

"Shit!" Stephanie had said she tried to kill herself nine times, but I didn't realise that had been in the hospital. "I'm surprised they don't keep a closer eye on her then. I saw her out here before I met you."

"I suppose they do the best they can. There are fifty patients here. If they give her more attention, there won't be time for everyone else."

"True. This place is better than the hospital in New York. I never saw the others. We were locked up all the time, except when we had to see the doctor or councillor. At least I had my own bathroom."

"I'd have hated that," Arthur said. "Being locked up all the time. I'm surprised I'm not, after what I did. Did they hurt you?"

"Who? The people in the hospital?"

"No." He shook his head. "Never mind."

"You can tell me. Did people hurt you?"

Arthur stopped walking and leaned against the fence. "That's why I killed them. I'm always the butt of everyone's jokes. I was bullied and beaten all the time. Kicked into the gutter."

"I'm sorry. People can be shit. I killed some people in New York. They weren't hurting me. They were pimps, using a little girl, twelve years old. I got her away from them and sent her back to her family. Her father wrote me a letter to thank me. The system locked me up. They thought I was a danger to society, even though I was helping them cleanse the city of scum." I ground my teeth. Maybe I shouldn't have told him all that, but I couldn't stop myself when I started getting riled up.

"The system is wrong. You did a good thing. How long do you have to stay in here?"

"Two years, but it's up for discussion. If I tell them what they want to hear—that I was wrong, and I'm sorry—I could get out earlier."

"Then why don't you?" Arthur frowned.

"Because I wasn't wrong, and I'd do it again." I ran a hand through my hair. If only I could stop my stupid emotions getting the better of me and tell the councillors how much I regretted what I did, and how I was a reformed character, things would be different. But I couldn't seem to stop myself.

"You know that, and I know that. You don't have to say it to them."

"You're right. I should do that." I nodded. I'd been telling myself that long enough. "So, enough about me. You want to tell me what happened with you?"

"Not really." He shook his head. "But I will if you want. It all started with these Wall Street guys on the train."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tells Travis about the people he's killed, but a couple of things don't seem to add up.

"Wall Street?" I echoed. "That's in New York."

"It's in Gotham, too. I don't know if you know anything about Gotham. It's a much younger city than New York. It has some parts that are similar to New York and the financial district is also called Wall Street. There's a Central Park, too."

I nodded. "Okay, go on."

"I was on the way back from a gig and—"

"A gig?"

"Travis, will you stop interrupting me?" Arthur frowned.

"I'm sorry." I bit my tongue. Before everything happened in New York, I'd talked to anyone who would listen, often until they told me to shut up. Four years in the last hospital with no one to talk to except the staff ended with me talking to myself.

"I performed at a children's hospital. I was still in my clown outfit; most of it anyway. I had big baggy trousers with patches on, and a shirt and a yellow waistcoat. My face was painted, and I had a green wig on. I used to wear these enormous shoes, too, but they were in my bag."

I nodded, imagining what he might have looked like.

"I was on the train going home." He stopped walking and closed his eyes, as if he were replaying a scene in his head. "These three drunk guys were there, eating French fries and teasing a poor woman who was sitting near them. I got nervous and started laughing. I'm sure she must have thought I was laughing at her and she left the carriage. I couldn't stop laughing and they came over to me. They were singing "Send in the Clowns." You know the song by Frank Sinatra?"

"I know it."

"I got scared and I laughed more. I tried to get my card out of my bag to show them. I had laminated cards with a message on about my condition that I used to give to people. But they grabbed my bag and threw it away. I tried to get up." He shook his head and pressed his hands to the sides of his face. "I couldn't stop laughing, but I wanted to scream, or cry. They were grabbing me, one punched me. I tried to kick one of them, and then suddenly they knocked me down and started kicking me." He stopped talking as laughter overtook him.

"Shit, Arthur." I tried to touch him, only my hands on his upper arms, but he jerked away, eyes flying open, and began to pace back and forth in front of me. "Arthur, come on. Maybe you shouldn't talk about this."

Gradually, his laughter subsided, leaving him struggling to breathe. He clawed at his throat, eyes watering. Cautiously, I reached out and touched his shoulder. He stayed still this time.

"If it upsets you this much, you should probably not—" I began again.

"We're supposed to talk about these things in here, aren't we?" he said. "Part of the therapy. Where was I? Oh, yes. I was on the floor of the carriage and they were kicking me. My bag was near me. I reached into it and they didn't realise what I was doing." Suddenly, a grin spread across his face. "I shot two of them. Bang! Bang, bang! They fell down, one was screaming. The last one tried to run, and I shot him in the leg. He yelled a lot. The train stopped and he got off and I followed and chased after him and shot him again and again. He fell down on the steps screaming, and I shot him in the back, and he died." Arthur talked faster and faster, his words running into each other. "Then I ran and ran, and I went to this old deserted public bathroom and I danced."

"You danced? You shot three people and then you danced?" I struggled to picture this. He didn't seem like the sort of person who would do that, but this was an asylum after all.

"Yeah, I danced. I love to dance." His slightly manic grin settled into a warm smile. "Will you dance with me some time?"

"I guess. If you want."

"That's be nice. We could dance to "That's Life." That's another Frank Sinatra song I like."

"Okay." I didn't ask where the music would come from. Maybe he would sing, or hum. Who knew? Had he killed those three guys the way he said? How did he come to have a gun? Wouldn't the circumstances have been self-defence? Well, maybe not the one he chased down. A hundred questions ran through my mind, but I didn't voice any of them.

"I'm all right now," Arthur said then. "You can ask me about it if you want."

"I was wondering where you got the gun from."

"Oh. Well, Randall—he's a guy I worked with—gave it to me. I got beat up another time before that, you see. By some kids in the street. Randall said I needed to protect myself and gave me the gun. Later he lied about it and told the police I asked to buy a gun from him. I got fired from my job because I dropped it in the hospital. Then Randall and Gary came to my apartment and I killed Randall. He got me in trouble, you see. Giving me the gun and then telling people I asked for it."

"How did you kill Randall?" I asked slowly. "Did you shoot him too?"

"No." Arthur shook his head vigorously and laughed. "I stabbed him with a pair of scissors. In the eye and the neck. Then I smashed his head into the wall. There was blood everywhere. It was a mess. My hand was covered in it, like a glove of blood. Gary was so upset. I felt bad, because he was nice."

"What did you do with the body?"

Arthur shrugged. "I left it there. Randall was big and fat. I couldn't have moved it anyway."

I glanced at him, trying to imagine him angry or upset enough to stab a big man in the eye and the neck with a pair of scissors; to murder someone in such a gruesome fashion. Arthur was so thin and frail-looking, but perhaps he was stronger than he looked. Perhaps he was crazier than he looked. Perhaps the crazy overtook the nervousness and anxiety when he was angry.

"You must think I'm crazy." Arthur swallowed and glanced around nervously. "I suppose I am, or I wouldn't be in here, would I?" He took a step away from me. "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have told you all that. You seem so nice. I want you to like me, but I suppose to do that, you have to know who I am."

"I guess so."

"Those people hurt me. That's why I hurt them. It was the same with the others. I wouldn't do anything to you. You've been kind to me."

"Others?" I repeated. "How many were there?"

"Well, I killed my mother."

So, that was true.

"She wasn't actually my mother. All my life I thought she was. It turned out I was adopted. She stood by while her boyfriends abused me. I was chained to a radiator and starved and beaten and… other stuff." He squeezed his eyes shut again. "That's how I got the head injury. My head was smashed into the radiator. I was a little boy. She let all that happen, and I didn't know. My mind shut it out. Then I read her file and found out about everything. All my life she lied to me. She was in the hospital after she had a stroke. It was easy. I put a pillow over her face."

"Christ, Arthur," I muttered.

"You're shocked now, aren't you?" He opened his eyes again and sighed.

"I'm shocked that you were treated like that when you were a little kid."

"There was Murray Franklin, too."

"Who?"

"Murray Franklin, the big TV star? The comedian with that TV show, "Live With Murray Franklin? You must have seen it."

I shook my head. "I never heard of him."

"But he's famous. Really famous. Everyone knows Murray. Or they did. I was invited on his show. Someone video-taped me performing in Pogo's club and he saw the tape. He invited me on the show, and I thought it was because he liked my act, but he just wanted to make fun of me in front of the whole country. He thought I was stupid. He made me look stupid. I had my gun with me, and I shot him on live TV."

"Arthur, how did you get a gun on live TV? Didn't they have security?" Things weren't making sense. If Murray Franklin was such a big star, how had I never heard of him? I watched TV, or I used to before I was locked up. I'd never heard of him or his show.

"Um, I guess they didn't bother to check me over." He shrugged. "Anyway, I was a different person then. I was Joker. He was smart and clever and confident. I sort of became him for a while. I was off my medication, you see. That was the real me. I had to take seven different medications, and they kept him away. When my social care funding stopped, I couldn't get my medication, and I became him. He's gone now."

I felt as if I were in the twilight zone. My head spun with everything Arthur had told me. It made him sound crazy, which would explain his presence in Arkham, but some of it didn't match up. Surely any guest going on a TV show with a famous host would be checked by security? How could anyone go on a live show with a gun?

Arthur rubbed his hands up and down his arms. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you all that. You don't hate me now, do you?"

"No, I don't hate you," I said numbly. "I'm surprised, I guess. Are you cold?"

"What?" He stopped rubbing his arms. "Yes. Yes, I am a little."

"Let's go inside. Before they come looking for us."

Arthur turned abruptly and led the way back the way we had come, rubbing his arms again. I walked beside him, not talking, trying to process everything in my head. The more I thought about it, the less it made sense. He killed a TV star I'd never heard of on live TV with a gun, and he smothered his not-mother in the hospital without being caught. Never mind the others. How had he got away with it? I would have to ask him some time, but right now, I couldn't cope with hearing anything else.

We went into the building, and Arthur turned left down the corridor. "The games room is down here," he said. "You want to play chess or something?"

"Um, some other time. I'm going to check out the bathroom and maybe rest a while. I haven't slept for a couple of days."

"Oh. Okay." His face fell. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure." I shot him a smile and turned away to go to my room by way of the bathroom. Then I changed my mind, went to my room first to grab a towel, and took a shower. When I returned to my room twenty minutes later, I lay on the bunk staring at the ceiling, and went over everything Arthur had told me in my head. Some of it had to be made up, didn't it?

A little while later, one of the orderlies who told me his name was Wesley came to check on me and suggest I make use of the bathroom again before the place was locked down for the night. I did so, then returned to my room.

"So, how's it going?" Wesley asked me. "You settling in okay?"

"I think so. It's good being able to walk around and talk to people."

"Yes, we noticed you've been spending some time with Arthur Fleck."

Of course they'd noticed. "He's, um, an interesting guy."

"He is that."

"Do you know who Murray Franklin is?" I asked.

"Not a clue." Wesley winked, and left me alone to my thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis has a rough first night in Arkham and his first session with Dr Kane doesn't help. But things look up later in the day.

I didn't sleep that night, or at least if I did it wasn't for long. I'd suffered with insomnia for years, and it was worse since I'd been in the hospital because they halved my medication. I still got my usual dose of anti-depressants, but the sleeping pills they gave me, they may as well not bother with.

I tossed and turned, paced around my room, and tossed and turned some more. Every little sound reached my ears—staff walking the corridors; someone screaming and crying; someone pacing and muttering. This someone was right next door. Arthur was pacing and muttering. Apparently, he couldn't sleep either. Perhaps he could hear me. The walls weren't thin, but the glass windows in each door let some sound through.

Everything he'd told me whirled around my head and I tried to pick holes in his story. It was certainly weird that neither I nor Wesley had heard of Murray Franklin. He must have made that up, surely. But why? And if that wasn't true, was any of it? Did he really perform in a club called Pogo's, where the audience applauded him and made him feel like a star? Had he stabbed a fat man called Randall to death in his apartment, and left the body there to rot in a lake of blood?

I rubbed my hands over my face. If he told his councillors this in every meeting, it was no wonder he was in the asylum, whether it had happened or not. And what about the cuts on his arms? He hadn't fallen in a bush. He'd plucked that explanation out of the air when I asked him about it.

Thinking about him took my thoughts away from myself. Usually, when I lay awake at night, I thought of what I'd done that got me locked up for seven years. Five of those years had been in a much worse place than this, and despite the realisation that if I changed my attitude, I would get out early, I hadn't been able to control myself. It was stupid. I should have been able to tell them what they wanted to hear a few times, but I got myself too worked up.

I started pacing again. Arthur had filled my head for hours, and the faint light of dawn had started to seep through my window when I finally pushed him aside and went back to thinking about myself. I had my first proper session today with one of the doctors, right after breakfast.

A buzzer sounded somewhere in the distance, and I listened as a door was unlocked and footsteps grew gradually closer, then farther away again as two people walked down the corridor past my room. Perhaps someone needed the bathroom.

Sometime later, all the doors were unlocked. I left my room immediately, anxious to get out of the confines of the four walls. The room was smaller than the one I'd had in New York, but at least I could get out of it. I headed for the bathroom, as did many other inmates. I didn't see Arthur, but I didn't pay much attention to the others anyway. I went back to my room to leave my towel and toothbrush there, then made my way to the dining room. Breakfast was oatmeal, fruit, and yogurt. There were two types of juice to drink—same as New York in that regard. We weren't allowed any drinks that contained caffeine. Damn it.

I helped myself to some oatmeal and a plastic cup of apple juice and sat at a table alone. A moment later, Stephanie joined me.

"Hey, Travis." She sat down without asking if I minded. I didn't.

"Hey. Sleep okay?"

"Like the dead." She rolled her eyes. "You?"

"Not a wink. I have insomnia."

"Don't they give you sleeping pills?"

"Not strong enough, no."

"You spent a lot of time with Arthur Fleck yesterday. Don't you think he's weird?"

"Aren't we all?"

"I suppose. Did he tell you about—" She lowered her voice. "—The people he killed?"

"Uh huh."

"Fancy shooting a TV star live on camera. That was, I don't know, wild." She giggled.

"You know who Murray Franklin is?" I asked in surprise.

"No, but he must be someone famous. He was on TV several times a week, or so I heard. And people could get tickets and sit in the audience at the theatre when they were broadcasting his show."

"But you never heard of him?"

"No. I don't much like comedy."

"Oh." I shovelled oatmeal into my mouth.

"What did you do, Travis? To get in here."

"I just, um, well…" I took a drink. "I have PTSD. I was in Vietnam, in the war. When I was discharged, I did some stuff. Didn't I tell you some of that?"

"Probably. My short-term memory is shot. They tell me it's because of something I did to myself once."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. At least I don't remember all the bad stuff."

"I wish I didn't." I glanced around and spotted Arthur on the other side of the room. He was stirring a dish of oatmeal and not eating. He looked up and met my eyes, then flushed and lowered his gaze to the table. I turned my attention back to Stephanie. "I helped a twelve-year-old girl in New York. She was being used by some pimps. I shot them," I said absently.

"Good for you. So, what did you do to end up in here?"

"Just that. Apparently, I used unreasonable and excessive force. I should have called the cops, but they wouldn't have given a shit. There are hundreds of prostitutes in New York. Some of them kids." I ground my teeth and told myself to calm down.

"The system is crap," Stephanie said. "What are they gaining by keeping me in here? I don't have anyone who cares about me anymore. My parents are dead and the man I was seeing left me. I don't have siblings or kids, and I don't have a job or a home anymore. So, the taxpayer is keeping me alive. For what?"

"Sometimes I wonder that myself," I mused. "I almost died in New York. I was shot, too, in the neck. I nearly bled to death, but they saved me for some reason. I don't have any family left either."

"I think a lot of people in here are in the same position." Stephanie looked around and indicated the woman I'd seen her with yesterday. "Charlotte killed her husband and her little boy. No one knows why. She never talked about it. She tried to kill herself, too, but the system saved her. Why? She has a miserable existence, and she'll be in here for years yet. She doesn't want to be rehabilitated. She just wants it all to end."

"I did, too, at one point." I nodded.

"And me. Arkham is just a house full of lost souls." She pushed her half-eaten breakfast aside. "Thanks for talking to me, Travis. I'll probably have forgotten this conversation by tomorrow, but it was nice." She got up and left the room.

I finished my own breakfast and helped myself to another glass of juice. Arthur glanced up at me again, but then quickly looked away. I considered going over to talk to him but wasn't sure I wanted to just yet. I had my councillor meeting to think about, which was due to start in thirty minutes. I went for a walk around the garden until an orderly came to find me. It was Angela, the one who told me off for upsetting Arthur.

I was taken to an office and introduced to Dr Kane, a tired-looking woman who seemed like she didn't want to be there. I sat opposite her, in front of a desk piled with files and loose papers.

"Travis Bickle?" She flicked through the first few pages of a file.

"Yes."

She levelled her gaze at me and proceeded to recite what she knew of my history. I nodded at intervals, until she came to the question they always got to eventually. "When you think about what you did, what thoughts go through your mind?"

"I saved a twelve-year-old girl from a life of hell," I said through my teeth, as my temper rose. "Her father wrote to me and thanked me. The system locked me up. How do you think I feel?"

"You committed murder. One of those men was shot in the back."

"He'd already shot me in the arm. Wouldn't you call that self-defence?"

"Not when you went into their house with the intention of doing something."

"I went to help Iris."

The rest of the session went the same way they always went. I lost my temper and ranted about the city full of scum, dragging innocent young girls into a life of torture, and how I'd wanted to free the general public from the pimps and drug-dealing animals taking over. Then my meeting ended with Dr Kane frowning and writing in her notebook, and I walked out of the room and slammed my fist into the nearest door.

"Fuck, Travis, what the hell is the matter with you?" I growled as I stamped down the corridor in my slippers and slammed through the door into the garden. "Can't you keep your fucking mouth shut?"  
I marched around the garden, my slippers quickly getting soaked through from the heavy dew coating the grass. I didn't notice how cold it was until I began to shiver. It was late April and often warm during the day, but the early mornings and evenings were chilly. I rubbed my bare arms in much the same way Arthur had done and found a bench to sit on. My toes were growing numb, and goose bumps rose on my skin. I dragged a hand through my hair, longing for a cigarette. I hadn't smoked in five years, but hell, how I wanted to. A large whisky wouldn't go amiss either.

"Travis? Are you okay?" Arthur's soft voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Not really, no," I grunted.

He sat next to me, and a quick glance showed me he was wearing a grey jacket with a hood.

"Where'd you get the coat?"

"There's a closet near the kitchen. They'll give you one if you ask."

"Right."

"You had your counselling session, didn't you?"

"How'd you guess?"

"I sometimes feel like that, too, after. Mostly, I'm just upset, though. I don't think they believe half the things I say."

"I wonder why?" I said sarcastically. I couldn't help myself.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

"You didn't believe what I said yesterday? It's okay. No one does. It was in the paper, you know. And on TV. They only have to look at the records, but they don't. They just think I'm crazy."

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm not feeling very friendly right now." I sighed and dragged my hand through my hair again.

"I'll go. I shouldn't have bothered you. But you should go inside before you catch a chill. You're shivering, and your feet are wet." He got up and walked away.

I stayed where I was until my teeth began to chatter. Then I went inside and made my way to my room. I tossed the slippers into a corner and got into my bed to warm up. I should probably go and apologise to Arthur, but I couldn't bring myself to move. I was pissed off with myself, and I could feel my depression creeping up on me. The pills lessened it to a certain degree, but when I thought too much—mostly after a counselling session—I wallowed and took myself back to the worst times of my life.

I finally crawled out of bed when the buzzer sounded for lunch. No one had come to check on me, and I guessed whoever was monitoring the cameras didn't think I was bad enough to be a danger to myself or anyone else.

Lunch was baked potatoes with cheese, and apple pie. I asked for extra cheese and sprinkled it on my apple pie. I'd always liked fruit pie with cheese, however weird that might be. When I saw Arthur sitting alone, I went to join him, and sat down without waiting to be invited.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

He shrugged. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I shouldn't have had a go at you just because I was feeling bad."

"It doesn't matter," he insisted. "I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be."

"You know, you can talk about it if you want." He pushed his half-eaten potato aside and folded his arms on the table. "Maybe it's better than talking to them. You know, the doctors."

"Is it better for you? Talking to me, I mean?"

"Yesterday I thought so. But I think I said too much. You don't like me very much, do you?"

"I like you just fine," I said at once. "I'm sorry I sneered earlier. I was upset with myself, not you. I'd rather you talk to me all day, than me have to think about my own crap."

"Do you want to come to my room to talk?" He glanced out the nearby window. "It's raining outside. We can't sit in the garden."

"Are we allowed in each other's rooms?"

"Sure. As long as we don't do anything they'd call inappropriate." He sniggered. "Stephanie has got in trouble for that several times."

"I'm sure. Okay." I dug my fork into my apple pie.

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Cheese doesn't go with apple pie."

"Have you ever tried it?"

"No."

"Well, don't knock it until you do." Instead of putting the fork in my mouth, I offered the bite to him. He stared at the fork suspiciously, then cautiously opened his mouth and took it. He chewed and frowned, then smiled.

"Actually, that's really good."

"Yeah, it is." I grinned. The day had started to improve. Perhaps talking to Arthur would make it better still, and maybe we could help each other.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis and Arthur talk and role play

I shared the rest of my apple pie with Arthur. He hadn't taken any from the food counter for himself. When we'd disposed of our plates, I followed him to his room. After the door closed behind us, he hovered uncertainly, glancing from the bed to the chair.

"I'll sit here." I took the chair.

"Oh, yes. Good." He relaxed and sat on the bed.

"You never had a friend in here before?"

"I don't have friends."

I smiled. "You do now."

He flushed and smiled back.

"Do you have insomnia?" I asked him.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I do, too. The sleeping pills aren't enough to help."

"No, they're not. Did I disturb you last night?" Suddenly, he looked anxious.

"No. I heard you, but only because I was awake and listening for sounds to break the boredom."

He giggled. "I talk to myself sometimes."

"So do I."

"You were in a bad mood this morning." Arthur's smile vanished. "Didn't your meeting with Dr Kane go well?"

"Um—"

"You don't have to tell me," he added quickly.

I sighed and slouched a little in the chair. "It's okay. I'd rather talk to you than her. I lost my temper like I always do. Then I was even more pissed off with myself." I rubbed my hand, which still ached from when I'd slammed it into the wall. "How do you handle talking to her when she doesn't believe you? Don't you ever think about doing things differently?"

"Yes, but we're not talking about me." He folded his arms and frowned.

"We're talking about both of us, and how we can make things better for ourselves. I don't know very much about you, Arthur, but don't you want to think about getting out of here?"

"Of course I do. I don't think it will happen, though." He unfolded his arms and scrubbed at the sides of his face.

I quickly recognised his rising anxiety. "Don't get upset. We'll talk about me for now, okay?"

He nodded.

"Dr Kane asked me the same questions they all ask me. How do I feel about what I did? I told the truth. I'd do it again in a heartbeat, if it helped a little girl get away from the scum and get back to her family."

"Yes, but Travis, that's not what they want to hear. You know that." He relaxed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "They want to hear you say you're sorry for what you did, and you understand that it was wrong. That you know it's not your job to do things like that, but to leave it the police."

"Like they're any fucking good," I grumbled.

"Maybe not. You don't have to believe what you say. You just have to say it, so they think you're not gonna walk right out of here and shoot somebody else."

I blew my breath out hard and met his eyes. "You know, you talk a lot of sense for a crazy person."

He cackled and his eyes twinkled.

"You're only telling me what I already know. I tell myself the same thing, every time I tell them I was doing good and I'd do it again. I can't seem to stop myself ranting about it. I know I should hold my tongue and say I'm sorry."

"So, why don't you, then? You should practise. You should pretend to be in a meeting with Dr Kane and say what you would say and then when you do it for real, you only have to repeat it. Like you're learning lines for a role in a play."

My lips twitched. "Who's going to play Dr Kane? You?"

"If you want." He grinned. "I mean, I'm the wrong colour, the wrong sex, and the wrong age, but I can do her voice." He adopted a sour, tired expression and when he spoke again, his voice was uncannily like Dr Kane's. "Now, Travis. I see from this file you shot some people in New York. Five years have passed since then. How do you feel about what you did?"

I pictured myself sitting in her office, staring at her across the desk, and my hackles rose. "I—" My jaw clicked. I saved a little girl. Yes. But what was the point of this? Get over yourself and make them believe you're not a danger to society anymore. "I guess I shouldn't have done that," I heard myself say. "I wanted to help her. I wanted to help Iris. But there were other ways I could have done that. Killing those men—" I cleared my throat and tried to think along different lines than those I usually thought along. "They may have had families; kids of their own. I mean, I doubt it, but who knows? I shouldn't have taken the law into my own hands. I could probably have got Iris away from them and put her on a bus home or driven her there in my cab. I shot them because I was angry, and I thought I was doing the city some good. Fuck." My whole body was tense and angry. The words coming out of my mouth were complete shit and I didn't believe them. I ground my knuckles into my eyes until they watered. "I don't believe a word of what I just said, Arthur."

"I know that. You don't have to. You just have to be convincing."

"Was I?" I looked up at him. When I'd had my fists in my eyes, he'd got off the bed and crossed the room. He was crouching in front of me.

"Not very. You were—you looked like you were vibrating with rage. But the words were right."

I nodded. "I guess I need to practise, Dr Kane."

Arthur smiled, and rested his hand on my knee. "Practise makes perfect."

"I just had a thought. They can't hear us in here, can they?"

"No, of course not. I wouldn't have suggested this otherwise. They can see us, but that's all."

"Good. Thanks." I glanced at his hand. I wanted to touch him, but should I? It was way too long since I touched anyone—not sexually, but in any way at all. I longed to. I placed my hand over his. Mine was about the same size as his, but his fingers were thinner and bonier. I glanced down his arm at the small cuts and noticed a fresh one just below the sleeve of his shirt. I brushed my thumb over the one on the back of his wrist. "How did you get these?" I asked softly. "Don't tell me you fell in a bush."

"You didn't believe that, huh?"

"No."

"Sometimes I get upset. It hurts, inside. If I hurt myself outside, it's not so bad."

"Shit, Arthur. Do you talk to them about it? To Dr Kane?"

"No, not her. I see another doctor, too. One who deals will the real nutjobs." He barked out a laugh. His hand stiffened under mine.

"How do you do it?" I kept my voice soft, barely above a whisper.

"I, um, with my nails sometimes. Or, um, you know that bush? It's quite sharp and prickly. If you break a twig off, it, um, it can cut you if you try hard enough." He hung his head and shuddered, right before his laughter started in earnest. He made to pull away, but I held onto his hand, turning it over so I could grip it more firmly in mine. He covered his mouth with the other hand, laughing and choking. He dropped from his crouch onto his knees in front of me, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he tried to get control of himself. When the laughter subsided, he was left breathless.

"Please don't do that again," I murmured.

"I can't help it. It's because of my brain injury."

"No, not that. Don't cut yourself."

"I can't help that either."

"Wouldn't it help, talking about why you're upset? Wouldn't you rather talk than hurt yourself?"

"Yes, but I never had anyone to talk to. The doctors and staff aren't available twenty-four-seven."

"You can talk to me. You're trying to help me. Can't I help you too?" I squeezed his hand and folded my free one around it, so that his one hand was buried within both of mine. "If you hurt, tell me. Maybe I can help make it better."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. And I am around twenty-four-seven. I don't have anything else to do. I don't even sleep."

"I can try." He nodded. "You know, nobody has ever held my hand before. Not even when I was a kid. My mother didn't. She was too busy fighting with her boyfriends or having sex with them. Or ignoring them when they did things to me."

I groaned. I thought I had it bad, but my minor issues were nothing compared to what he'd been through.

"I'll always be around," I told him.

"No, you won't. You'll be around until you can convince them you should leave."

"That'll probably be a long time. Until them, I'm all yours."

He looked up and met my eyes. When he was upset, they were a darker green, I noticed. He was only inches away, and I wondered what it would be like to kiss him. I'd only kissed a man once, years ago, before I joined the marines. I hadn't liked it, but only because he'd taken over. He'd been older and thought I was a stupid inexperienced kid, which I had been. I still was. I might be thirty, but I hadn't done much.

I imagined kissing Arthur. His lips looked soft and inviting. There was a scar above the upper one to the left of his nose. I wondered how he'd got that.

He laughed a little, and colour flooded his face. "What are you looking at?"

"How'd you get the scar above your lip?"

"Oh, that." He rubbed a finger over it. "It was when I was a kid." His eyes darkened more, and he avoided my gaze. "I don't remember it, but it says in my file I had stitches. My mother's boyfriend hit me in the face for some misdemeanour. Probably daring to breathe."

"I'm sorry, Arthur." I took one hand off his and ran the tip of my finger over his upper lip, across the scar. He closed his eyes and leaned towards my hand as it hovered in front of his face. Then he snatched his hand from mine and jumped to his feet as the door opened.

"Everything all right in here?" It was Wesley.

"We're fine. Thanks, Wesley," I answered. Arthur paced, rubbing at his face.

"Calm down, Arthur," Wesley said. "I'm just checking in, that's all."

"We were talking about my meeting with Dr Kane," I told him.

"I'm okay," Arthur put in. "He didn't upset me. He's my friend."

Wesley smiled. "Well, that's a good thing. It's about time you made friends in here. It's movie time in thirty minutes, if you're interested. "All About Eve" with Bette Davis, Arthur, you like that one."

Arthur nodded. "Thanks. I'd like that."

Wesley left us alone and closed the door behind him. Arthur sat down on the bed. I wondered if Wesley had walked in at that precise moment on purpose, because he'd been watching us on the camera. What had he thought would happen? That I'd suddenly thrown Arthur on the bed and tear off his clothes? I ran a hand through my hair and got up.

"Please don't go." Arthur looked up at me.

"I'll be back. I'm gonna, um, freshen up."

"Will you watch the movie with me?"

"Sure." I'd seen "All About Eve" before and it wasn't my sort of thing, but it was something to do, and it would please him. "I'll see you in the games room in a little while."

I went to the bathroom, then back to my room. My pulse was racing, I realised. If we'd been anywhere else, would I have kissed him? Would he want me to? What was it he said before? That he'd consider being with a guy and that it couldn't be much different to jerking off. Immediately, the image of his dick in my hand was in my head. I'd only done that once before, too. Not with the same guy I kissed. It was during training in the marines. One guy cornered me in the showers. Six weeks without even an opportunity to jerk off. No one else was around. We grabbed each other's dicks and went for it, hard and fast. I came in about thirty seconds. So had he.

"Shit." I shook my head and pressed the heel of my hand against my crotch. I was rock hard. I had to stop thinking about that before I went to watch the movie. Perhaps it was time I gave my dick some attention. I glanced at the camera in my room, rolled my eyes, and headed back to the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur talks to Travis about Sophie

I watched the movie with Arthur. Part of the games room was set up like a mini theatre, with a large TV screen in one corner and three rows of chairs set in a semi-circle around it. Every seat was filled for the movie, and I assumed this must be the highlight of the day for many of the inmates.

We sat in the back row at one end, which gave me the opportunity to look at the other viewers rather than watch the film. Arthur's gaze was glued to the screen, and he whispered the dialogue under his breath most of the time, as if he'd watched it dozens of times and memorized every line. He seemed happy that I was there, whether I watched or not.

I recognised two men from New York, one of whom I knew to be called Barry. We'd never socialised there, of course, or even met properly, but I'd seen him being talked to by doctors when I'd been out of my cell on my way to a counselling session. I didn't know the other guy's name, but I supposed I could speak to him later. Stephanie sat beside him, whispering in his ear every so often. The other woman, Charlotte, sat the other side of Stephanie.

I checked out the others, a broad mix of men and women aged anything from twenty-five to sixty-five, all in their white hospital uniforms and slippers. The woman sitting the other side of Arthur glanced at me a few times and smiled, but no one else paid any attention to me. When the movie was over, I stood up and stretched. The "movie theatre" chairs weren't the most comfortable for sitting on for two hours.

Arthur looked up at me and smiled. "You were bored, weren't you?"

"You got me. I didn't mind it."

"You didn't have to watch it just to please me."

"I'd rather do that than sit in my room alone. You want to play chess or something?"

He shook his head. "I want to go and rest for a while."

"Sure. Okay. I'll see you later, then."

He got up and walked out of the room. I wondered if he was okay, but he didn't seem particularly distressed about anything. I decided to take the opportunity to speak to Barry. The other guy whose name I didn't know was too engrossed in Stephanie for me to bother interrupting.

Barry seemed pleased to have someone to talk to. He recognised me, too, and we spent the rest of the afternoon chatting and playing cards. He'd only been in the New York hospital for six months before the fire, and like many others, it was due to him being a danger to himself rather than to others. He'd tried to hang himself in his apartment and almost succeeded, but his wife—soon to be ex-wife at the time—found him and called for help. He'd done it because she'd told him she was leaving him. After she'd gone, he'd made another attempt, but admitted he wasn't serious about it, because he'd made sure someone else found him. It was a cry for help.

"This place is much better than New York," he said. "That was like prison."

"Yeah, it was."

"I was supposed to be in a low security hospital, but there wasn't room for me. I remember you. I mean, from before the hospital. You were in the paper. I don't care what they say. What you did was a good thing. You shouldn't be locked up for helping that little girl. I have a daughter. I haven't seen her in almost a year, but she's twelve now. If something like that happened to her—" He shuddered. "Well, I'd hope someone like you would be around to help her."

His words only convinced me further that I'd been right in doing what I did. It didn't help me change my attitude at all. I could only hope that talking to Arthur would help do that.

I didn't see Arthur again until dinner. He sat with me and picked at his food, but he barely spoke. He seemed like I was when my depression kicked my butt. I surreptitiously checked out his arms but didn't see any new cuts. When I finished eating, I disposed of our plates. "You want company, or would you rather be on your own?" I asked him. I didn't like anyone around me when I felt like he looked.

"I don't want to be alone right now. I almost—" He glanced around at the other people still eating or moving around.

"We could sit in my room if you want," I suggested.

He nodded and led the way out of the dining room. He didn't speak again until we were in my room and he was sitting on my chair with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. "I'm having a bad day. Earlier, it was so good when we spent time together. But I don't feel good now."

"I know how that is." I nodded. "Sometimes I don't even want to get out of bed. But I don't like being around other people then."

"I don't either." Arthur scratched absently at his arms. His fingernail caught the most recent scab and pulled it up, making a droplet of blood ooze out. He didn't even notice. "I'd rather be in my room on my own, but it won't do me any good. I almost hurt myself earlier. I promised I would try to talk to you instead. So here I am. I don't really want to talk."

"You don't have to." I grabbed some tissues from the box next to my bed and got up. "Don't scratch your arm. It's bleeding." I passed him the tissues. He took them and dabbed at the blood.

"Maybe I should, though. Sometimes when I get really down, it's because I think too much about stuff that's happened to me. I went through most of my life not remembering anything from when I was a kid. Then I read my mother's file. She wasn't even my mother. She adopted me. Why would you choose to have a kid, and then mistreat him?" He shook his head. "Today, I just—" He flushed and pressed his face against his knees. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled. "You're so nice to me. I don't feel like I deserve it. I hardly know you, but I feel like I need you and that's not fair on you. You have your own problems to deal with. You don't want mine adding to them."

"Hey. Don't talk like that." I got up again and went over to him. Fuck whoever was watching on the camera. Let them have something more interesting to watch than a bunch of people sitting alone in their rooms. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Arthur. I know I have my own shit to deal with, but I can still be here for you. It's a two-way street, you know. You're trying to help me with my attitude. Sure, I need some practise, but I can do that. I did ask you to talk to me if you feel bad, rather than hurt yourself. The doctor you see doesn't seem to be any help with that. I'm just an ordinary guy, and I don't know anything, but even if I just sit with you and don't say anything, if that helps, I can do it."

Arthur looked up, his eyes wet. "I'm not worth it."

"Yes, you are."

"It doesn't feel like it. I never had anyone to show me any different."

I gave his shoulder a squeeze. He slid his feet off the edge of the chair to the floor and looked up at me. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around my waist and held on tight, his forehead pressed against my stomach. I hesitated, surprised. He'd probably never had hugs if what he said about his life was true. I hadn't had many of them either.

"Stand up," I murmured.

He drew back slowly, reluctantly. "I'm sorry." He hauled himself to his feet.

"I wasn't complaining. You want a hug? This is better." I slid my arms around him and pulled him against me. He melted into my arms and held onto me again, his face tucked into my neck.

He was so thin. I imagined I could feel every bone in his body—his spine, shoulders, and ribs were all prominent, barely disguised by the thin layer of cotton that was his shirt. I ran my hand down his back, then up again. He pressed closer, both arms tight around me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of the hospital-issue shampoo in his hair, and an underlying soft muskiness that was just him. A simple hug felt so good after so long being lonely.

"This feels so good," Arthur whispered.

"I know."

"I never had anyone hold me like this before. At least, not that I remember."

"Not even Sophie?" I remembered he'd talked about a girlfriend, but not a moment ago he'd said no one had ever shown him he was worth it. That seemed strange, if he'd dated. Or perhaps Sophie had been like Betsy. He'd longed for her, but not much had happened.

"I, um, I—" He took a breath. "I don't remember."

"You don't remember your girlfriend hugging you?"

He stiffened, held onto me for a few more seconds, but then wriggled out of my embrace and began to pace the room. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his face.

"Arthur? Hey. You don't have to talk about it, you know."

"What did I tell you about her before?"

"You said she was sweet. You had a date, and she went to the hospital with you when you mother was sick."

"She was our neighbour." He stopped pacing and sat on the bed. "I met her in the elevator one time. She was running for it with her little girl, and I held the door for her. She worked at a bank. I followed her to see where she was going. I thought I was being discreet, but I guess she saw me. She came to my apartment that night and asked if I followed her. I made a joke about holding up the bank some other time. Then I asked her to come and watch my stand-up show and she said she would." He looked up at me. "I, um, I'm not really sure. Maybe I imagined that."

"Imagined what? Her coming to the show?"

"No. Coming to my apartment. I don't know. She was scared of me at the end."

"What did you do?" Alarm bells began to ring. Had he killed Sophie?

"Nothing. I was upset one day. I went to her apartment. I wanted her to comfort me. I let myself in, but she was scared. She didn't even know me. But we'd been out for coffee after the show, and she sat in the hospital with me. The night after I killed the three guys on the train, I went to her and we had sex. I think. It's kind of fuzzy. Why would she be scared of me?"

"Arthur, did you hurt Sophie?"

"No! I don't think so."

"What happened when you went to her apartment after you shot those guys?"

"I told you. We had sex."

"Did she want to?" My heart was slamming against my ribs. What if he was a rapist as well as a murderer? How would I deal with that? Was any of this even true?

He stood up and began to pace again, shaking his head. Laughter bubbled up and he stood still, almost bending double as he dissolved into hysterics and clawed at his throat.

"I never—" Laughter drowned his words. "I never touched her," he gasped out. "I wouldn't hurt one hair on her head. I dreamed about her. I wanted her. I imagined she might want me back. She was like an angel. But she never knew I was alive. Oh, God. She never knew I was alive. I realised the last time I saw her, when I let myself into her place. She was scared of me. Not because I hurt her, but because she didn't know me. She just thought I was the weird neighbour who laughed. It was all in my head. I was so desperate for someone to love me, I imagined it all." He was shaking all over, laughing again, while tears ran down his cheeks. "I don't know what's real anymore."

"It's okay." As unnerved as I was, I went to him and rested my hands on his shoulders. "It's okay, Arthur. People imagine things all the time. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't hurt her. That's what's important."

How much of what he talked about was true, I wondered? Was any of it? Had he even killed anyone? Or was he in Arkham because his mind was a mess and he was only a danger to himself?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis worries about Arthur when he finds out he's been taken upstairs to the "secure unit" in Arkham after a breakdown. In the meantime, Travis tries to start telling Dr Kane what she wants to hear.

After Arthur went to his room for the night and the doors were locked, I did what I usually did. I paced, tried to sleep, tossed and turned, and thought about things. Arthur was more screwed up than I could have imagined, and I began questioning everything he'd told me. I went over and over it until I gave myself a headache. Then finally, I drifted off to sleep.

Arthur wasn't at breakfast the next morning, or at lunch. I went to his room, but he wasn't in it. I wandered around the garden and looked in the games room, but he was nowhere. I asked Stephanie if she'd seen him, but she said she hadn't. Then, after my appointment with Dr Kane, which I didn't do any better at than the first time, I ran into Wesley. He was the friendliest orderly out of the ones I'd met so far and didn't seem to mind me spending time with Arthur.

"Hey, Travis." He greeted me with a smile. "How are you doing?"

"Where's Arthur?" I asked. "Have you seen him?"

His smile disappeared. "He's having a hard time at the moment."

"Where is he? Is this my fault?" Anxiety gnawed at my guts.

"It's not your fault, Travis. He said you helped him. But he faced up to something that he thought had happened completely differently. How much do you know?"

"I know that some of the stuff he says doesn't tie up. One time he told me he had a girlfriend. But yesterday he said it was all in his head."

Wesley nodded. "It's not my place to tell you things about him. I could get fired. But he's obviously talked to you. Much of his life is different to what he thinks."

"How long has he been here?" I asked.

"Two years. I shouldn't say anymore."

"But where is he now?"

"He's in the secure wing upstairs."

"Why? What happened? Did he hurt himself?"

"Travis, I really can't—"

"Please tell me," I begged. "I've only been here a couple of days, but it seemed like he could be my friend. We talked a lot. I'm worried about him."

Wesley glanced around, checking for anyone who might be listening. "I'm not sure of the details, but they said he had a kind of breakdown. He had a meeting with Dr Marks this morning and it was to do with that."

"How long will he stay up there?"

"I don't know. Sorry. Until he's well enough to come back down, I guess." Wesley gave me a pat on the shoulder and left me alone.

"Shit." I tugged a hand through my hair and went back to my room. I couldn't help feeling responsible. Arthur had seemed like he wanted to talk to me, but facing up to the fact that his relationship with Sophie had all been in his head, and that she had in fact been scared of him, had apparently tipped him over the edge.

I stayed in my room most of the day, only emerging at mealtimes. If I didn't show up in the dining room, the staff would come looking for me and ask questions. I didn't want to talk about how much Arthur's situation bothered me. I felt sick and guilty, and I worried that he'd taken several steps backwards in his recovery. That made me think, perhaps he wouldn't recover. Perhaps he wasn't in Arkham to be rehabilitated, as I was, but for the long haul. If he'd already been here two years and was still struggling this much, maybe he wasn't capable of going back out into society and would never be.

The next day I went out to walk around the garden. I didn't want to hide in my room all the time and have the staff ask questions. I sat on the bench where I'd first met Arthur and thought about him until I was interrupted by the woman who'd sat the other side of him when we watched the movie. She hovered in front of me, tucking her red hair behind her ears, and beaming.

"Hi! You're new here, aren't you? I saw you the other day watching the movie. You looked as bored as I was. My name's Rachel. May I sit with you?"

"Sure." I nodded absently. "My name's Travis."

"I know. I asked." She sat down about two inches away from me. "What are you in for?"

"Being misunderstood."

"Me too. I think a lot of the people here are misunderstood. It can get pretty lonely in here."

"Yeah." I didn't feel like talking, and I was already uncomfortable with her proximity. Her arm brushed mine as she moved.

"Do you have someone on the outside?" she asked. "A girlfriend?"

"No."

"Would you like one in here?" To my utter astonishment, she placed her hand on the inside of my thigh, stroked her way up to my crotch, and cupped me before I could stop her. "Mm, nice."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I shoved her hand off and jumped to my feet.

"Oh, come on, Travis. We could have a little fun. There are some places around here where the cameras can't see us. I can't get pregnant. I've been sterilized."

"Not happening." I shook my head vigorously. She was worse than Stephanie. At least Stephanie backed off when I told her to. What the hell was wrong with women in mental hospitals? "I'm gay," I said through my teeth.

"All the good-looking ones say that." Rachel sighed dramatically. "When it comes to it, they're actually bi. I bet I could get you going."

"Leave me alone."

She shrugged, then. "It's your loss. Don't come looking for me when you change your mind."

"I won't." When she got up and walked away, I sat back down. I contemplated going back to my room and keeping out of everyone's way after all, but Barry appeared a few minutes later. I spent some time with him instead. It turned out Rachel had tried it on with him, too, and he'd had more difficulty fending her off than I did.

Several days passed, and I had another meeting with Dr Kane. I felt like shit. I hadn't slept much, and I was still worried about Arthur. He was still upstairs, and Wesley wasn't able to tell me how he was doing. The upstairs staff were a different set of people, and the orderlies on the ground floor didn't deal with the secure unit patients.

"So, Travis, how are you today?" Dr Kane asked. She looked resigned, as if she expected me to say what I'd said before.

"Tired. I'm not sleeping well," I admitted.

"Why is that?"

"I have a lot on my mind."

"Would you care to share it?"

I wasn't about to tell her I'd been thinking about Arthur. I thought for a moment. What would he want me to say? "I've been thinking about the things I did. Perhaps I was wrong."

"What do you think was wrong about it?"

"I killed those guys. I could have got Iris away from them without doing that. I was angry. I wanted to punish them. I thought I was doing something good."

"And you don't now?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. Let's not get carried away. A complete rapid turnaround might not be believable. "I wanted to cleanse the city of scum. But it's impossible to do that. There are hundreds of guys like that. At least it was a small percentage that couldn't hurt any more kids like Iris." I slumped down in my seat. "It's not my job to do stuff like that." It was as much as I could manage to say. I dried up completely, and no amount of prompting from Dr Kane got me to say anything else, even when she asked me about my apparent friendship with Arthur. I didn't bite. If I started talking about him, I feared I'd go overboard, like I usually did.

Dr Kane wrapped up the meeting, apparently exasperated that I hadn't said more. She gave me a notebook and a pencil. "Travis, I want you to write in this journal before our next meeting. Put down your thoughts on what you did and how you feel about it. Write about how you feel now, in here. Anything that comes into your head."

"You trust me with a deadly weapon?" I raised an eyebrow as I examined the pencil.

"You don't seem inclined to hurt yourself, or anyone else. The cameras are watching, of course."

"Of course." I left her and went back to my room. I tossed the notebook and pencil onto the chair and lay down on my bed. Maybe I'd write something later. Right now, I couldn't think of anything other than what might be happening to Arthur.

A couple more days passed, and I'd almost given up hope of seeing him again. I stayed in my room most of the time. Barry was sick with a bad stomach, and he was the only other person I felt comfortable with, so I avoided everyone else except at mealtimes. I started writing in my journal to keep Dr Kane off my back. I wrote about what I'd told her in the meeting and expanded on the theme that I'd started to think what I'd done was wrong. If everyone thought it was wrong except me and Iris's dad, clearly it was me thinking along the wrong lines. I managed to fill one page before the pencil grew too blunt to write anymore. Then I caught a movement from the corner of my eye and looked up.

"Arthur!"

He'd slipped silently into the room and stood by the door, waiting for me to notice him. I pushed the notebook aside and got to my feet. He said nothing, but his lips curved into the tiniest of smiles, before he closed the gap between us and wrapped his arms around me. I hugged him back, holding him tight. He didn't smell like himself—his clothes and hair held a clinical scent, like disinfectant. He seemed thinner than before, if that were possible. I thought I might break him if I held him too tightly, but I crushed him against me anyway. Cool fingers touched the back of my neck and stroked my hair.

"I missed you, Travis," he said softly.

"Me too. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" Finally, I let him go and looked him up and down. The scars on his arms were faint and healed, and I couldn't see any new ones.

"No." He shook his head to emphasise it.

"You want to sit down?" I sat on the edge of the bed. He sat beside me without hesitation. "I was worried it was my fault you were upstairs."

"It wasn't. It's not the first time. I was up there for a couple of months when I first came here. You didn't do anything wrong. I wanted to talk. I've never wanted to talk before. Dr Kane and Dr Marks can never get anything out of me. Only the same thing I always talk about. The people I killed." He tapped the side of his head. "It's all fucked up in here. I don't know what's real and what isn't. Well, I know Sophie wasn't real. She was my neighbour and I creeped her out. That part was true. She never came to my show at Pogo's, or had a date with me, or came to the hospital to sit with me when my mother was sick. We never had sex. I've never had sex with anyone." He flushed. "Sorry."

"It's okay. You can tell me anything."

"I'm calm now," he added. "I talked about this one thing every day with Dr Marks. They switched some of my meds, too. It'll be a little while before they kick in properly, but I'm all right."

"That's good. But maybe we shouldn't explore anymore of your past. I love talking to you, Arthur, but I'm not a doctor. I don't know what to do for the best."

"But you helped me. I trust you," he said simply. "I know I got upset—hysterical, even—but in the end it was good for me. If I can't get better, I'll probably spend the rest of my life in here. I've been here two years. Did I tell you that?"

"No, but Wesley did. When you spoke about it before, you weren't sure how long."

"Yeah. I always thought I'd only been here a few weeks, or months. Something like that. I can remember when they brought me here. It was a few days after I was arrested for shooting Murray Franklin."

I tensed, wondering if he was about to tell me about that in detail. Would he tell me the same thing he had before, or would the story be different? Would he tell me that had all been in his head, too?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis and Arthur talk about sex, and then Travis can't stop his imagination working overtime.

Arthur didn't say any more about Murray Franklin or any of the other things in his past, whether they were true or not. In a way I was relieved, although if it helped him, I'd listen when he did want to talk, even if it made him hysterical again. Instead, he glanced around my room, and noticed the notebook I'd pushed aside.

"Did Dr Kane ask you to write a journal?"

"Yeah."

"I had to do that at first. They don't let me have pens or pencils now, though. If they want me to write anything, it has to be in one of their offices."

I assumed he'd hurt himself with a writing device but didn't ask.

"What did you write about?" he asked.

"You can read it if you want," I offered. "I tried to do what you said."

"Really?" He smiled and ran his fingers over the cover of the notebook. "You don't mind me reading it?"

"No. Go for it. Just don't judge my spelling."

Arthur shrugged and grinned wider. "I can't spell."

"In this case, that's a good thing." I sat in silence as he laboriously read the page of writing, following the words along each line with the tip of his finger, the way a child might read. His lips silently formed the words as he did so.

It surprised me how much I'd missed him, and how pleased I was to have him with me right now. We'd only known each other for a short amount of time before he went away, but somehow, I had begun to develop feelings for him. That was unheard of for me. I'd thought I was falling for Betsy, but really, it had only been infatuation—something that was definitely not reciprocated. Now, I let my gaze take in every inch of Arthur as he sat reading, too engrossed in my scrawly writing to notice me staring.

He was so painfully thin—every knot of his spine was visible through the cotton shirt as he hunched over the book. His forearms had no flesh on them, and his fingers were like claws. His hair looked soft and freshly washed, but it smelled of that unpleasant chemical instead of the shampoo in the bathroom. I imagined running my fingers through the strands, then curling my hand around his neck to pull him closer to me. My pulse quickened and my palms grew damp. Would he object to me doing that, or would he like it? If I kissed him, would he respond? I glanced at the camera in the corner near the ceiling. Of course, I couldn't do that in here. I looked at him again, his jaw dark with stubble where usually, he was clean-shaven. I imagined the rough feel of it under my fingers, if I touched his face. I didn't even notice when he finished reading and looked sideways at me.

"Travis? Is something wrong?" He straightened up and met my gaze. He rubbed a hand over his cheek, eyes wide and anxious.

"No. Nothing. It's fine." Heat crept into my face. "What did you think? Of what I wrote."

"It's good. It sounds as if you're going in the right direction. But it's not too obvious a change. It shows that you're starting to think maybe you were wrong, but it's still confused in your head. I don't think they would believe it if you suddenly said the opposite to what you've been telling them."

"That's what I thought." I took the notebook from him and put it aside. "I have another meeting with Dr Kane tomorrow. I'm sure she'll be pleased."

Arthur smiled again. "So, what have you been doing since I went away? Did you make any new friends?"

"Yeah, one."

"Oh." I wasn't sure if I imagined it, but he looked disappointed.

"This guy, Barry. He was in New York, too. He has depression, like the rest of us. He's been sick though. Bad stomach."

"Poor guy."

"A woman tried to, um, make friends with me, too," I began. "Rachel, the red-haired one. She sat the other side of you when we watched that movie. Do you know who I mean?"

"Oh, yes, everyone knows Rachel." Arthur chuckled. "Do you know why she's in here?"

"No. We didn't get to that question. She was very, um, forward."

"What do you mean?"

"She said we should have some fun and grabbed my, well, you know." I snorted.

Arthur glanced at my lap, then flushed scarlet and put his hand over his mouth.

"I told her to get lost," I added.

He sniggered. "She's in here because she's obsessed with sex. Addicted to it. She's worse than Stephanie. She tries to do it with all the men in here. Even me. I told her to get lost, too. I don't think her therapy is working."

"No, I don't think it is." We laughed together.

"Can I ask you something?" Arthur abruptly stopped laughing and stared down at his folded hands.

"Sure."

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Um, sex." His colour deepened.

"Jeez." My own face burned again. "Well, it's been a long time. A real long time."

"Before you went into the hospital in New York?"

"Way before that. I was a marine in Vietnam."

"You were a marine?" Arthur's expression switched from embarrassed to impressed, a welcome distraction. Perhaps I could get out of talking about sex, even though talking about my past instead would bring up painful memories.

"Yeah. I joined up when I was eighteen." Hell, it had been a long time. Longer than I'd realised. "I was in Vietnam. It was a tough time. A lot of my platoon were killed or injured. It was carnage. I got an honourable discharge when we got back to the States. I went a little nuts after that. I had PTSD."

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," Arthur said quietly.

"Yeah. You know about that?"

"I used to read a lot. It wasn't recognised until a few years ago."

"That's right. And after that, I was a taxi driver in New York. It seemed like something I could do when I couldn't sleep. I had real bad insomnia—still do. So I'd drive my cab all night and try to sleep in the day. Sometimes it worked. Being out all night, I got to see all the shit that goes on in the city—drug-dealing, muggings, killings, prostitution, robberies. I tried to do something about it, which is what got me locked up."

"You're a hero."

"I'm definitely not that."

"I think you are." He cleared his throat. "So, when did you last have sex?"

Damn it. He was like a dog with a bone on that question. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm curious. I never had anyone to ask. There was only ever my mother—the woman I thought was my mother—and I couldn't ask her about that sort of thing."

"Well, it was a long time ago. Before I went into the marines. I can barely even remember it now." I tried to shove away my embarrassment. "You jerk off, right?" I remembered him saying something about that before.

"Huh." Arthur put his hands over his face. "Yes," he added in a muffled voice.

"Well, imagine that, but with somebody else doing it, and it feels about a hundred times better."

"Okay. Is that with a woman or a man?"

"Either one. I slept with a girl when I was seventeen and a boy when I was eighteen."

Arthur lowered his hands. "Which one did you prefer?"

"Him. Only because he was older and knew what he was doing. With the girl, it was my first time and hers. We were both useless and it was a bit of a disaster."

"I hope I get the chance to do it before I die. I always thought it was something that would only be a fantasy."

"There's no reason why you shouldn't. If you work on your recovery and get out of here, you could meet someone. You might meet a nice woman to be with; not a pushy one like Rachel or Stephanie."

"I don't think I'd ever have the courage. Besides, normal women don't like me. I don't suppose men would either. I hadn't thought about that before I met you, but maybe—" He ran a hand through his hair and barked out a laugh. "I bet even you wouldn't want to do that with me."

"What do you mean, even me?" I grew hot all over and tried not to picture myself lying on this bed naked with him, but it was impossible not to. I hadn't imagined the conversation going in this direction and now it had, I couldn't stop myself imagining.

"I meant, you're so nice to me. You seem to actually like me. But I know you're only being friendly."

I cleared my throat. "Okay, listen. We can't really think about doing stuff like that in here. There are eyes everywhere." I jerked my head in the direction of the camera in the corner. "If we were on the outside, it would be different."

Arthur laughed, not quite hysterical, but wild enough to tell me his anxiety was rising, probably fuelled by embarrassment. As he'd said, no one had ever talked to him about this stuff, and I'd had so little experience that the subject made me cringe. I tried to pull myself together. "Don't get upset, Arthur. There's no need to. It's okay to ask me stuff. I'm not very good at talking about it, because I don't know much more than you. But I like you, okay? I'm not just being friendly."

"Th-thank you, Travis." He fidgeted and rubbed at his face, but the laughing subsided into gasps.

"I guess there's something we can do that they won't complain about," I ventured.

"What's that?"

"They didn't come in here and break us up when we hugged, did they?"

Arthur smiled. "I liked that."

I shuffled closer until my thigh rested against his, then slid my arm around his back. He turned his upper body towards me and put both arms around me, then rested his head on my shoulder. It was kind of awkward and uncomfortable and would have worked much better standing up or lying down, but it was nice to have him in my arms. His breathing grew uneven and his body trembled. I lifted my free hand and stroked it over his hair. I tried not to think too much, but it was impossible not to. I imagined us somewhere else. I would tilt his face up to mine and angle mine down until our lips met. The stubble on his face might graze as we brushed against each other. His lips would be warm and soft, maybe a little clumsy as he tried out his first kiss. I would want to slide my tongue into his mouth, my heart racing, blood heading south. Maybe I'd hold back rather than plunge in right away and risk freaking him out. Or maybe he would welcome it.

His warm breath fanned my neck, and his fingers dug into my back as he held on tighter. My mouth had gone dry and my heart raced along with my fantasy. My dick was half hard, probably obvious if he looked down. Probably obvious if anyone was watching the camera at this moment, too. I crossed my legs and rested my arm across my lap. Arthur's lips touched my collarbone, and I shivered. My imagination went into overdrive again. I would pull my shirt off and close my eyes as he explored my chest with his mouth. My dick twitched under my arm, and I came back to my senses.

"Arthur." I gently pushed him away a few inches. "Don't do that."

"I'm sorry." He jerked out of my arms in an instant. "Oh God, sorry. I thought—"

"Stop. I didn't mean you did anything wrong. I meant I like it too much. Anymore and it'll be way too obvious how much I like it, and one of the orderlies will be in here complaining."

Arthur dissolved into laughter—not the wild hysterical laughter like when he was upset, but a happy, amused one. "Who knows? Maybe it would make their day, having something interesting to watch."

"Yeah, well better to be safe than sorry. If we're going to make a habit of hugging each other, we should probably do that in one of those places where the cameras can't see." I winked and moved farther away from him. Things had taken a surprising turn for the better.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur talks to Travis about a little more of his past, and the end of the story isn't what Travis expects

"Did you bring your journal?" Dr Kane asked me.

She knew I had. I'd walked into her office not two minutes earlier with the book and pencil in my hand. It's not as if I could have hidden it in my clothes. I merely raised an eyebrow and placed it on the desk in front of her. She opened it and quickly read the page of writing.

"This is a step in the right direction. You're questioning what you did and how you feel about it?"

"Yeah."

The usual routine followed for part of the session. I did the best I could to tell her what she wanted to hear, while not sounding too much as if I'd changed my mind completely. After a few minutes, she sharpened the pencil and passed it and the book back to me. She folded her hands on the desk in front of her and frowned.

"You appear to have formed quite a close, ah, friendship with Arthur Fleck."

"Sure, we get along," I said casually. My neck grew hot. I felt like a kid at school about to be reprimanded for sneaking around the bike sheds with a girl.

"It seems to be a little more than that."

I held my tongue and waited for her to go on.

"We don't discourage friendships between the patients here, as long as it doesn't interfere with their recovery." She cleared her throat. "And as long as it doesn't go beyond friendship."

"You should try telling Rachel that," I blurted.

Dr Kane's brows drew together. "We're talking about you, Travis."

"What do you want me to say? There are cameras everywhere. I'm not going to do anything, am I? He needed a hug. So did I. That's allowed, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. I already talked to Arthur this morning. Other than being embarrassed, he made it clear he trusts you and that your company helps him."

"Oh. Well, that's good."

"Our concern is that Arthur is very childlike in some ways and—"

"You don't have to tell me that." I rubbed a hand over my face. "I'm not gonna do anything to hurt him, am I? Or upset him. He gets upset sometimes because he wants to tell me things that are messed up in his head. Not because of me."

"We're aware of that. Our other concern is if he were to grow attached to you. He's likely to remain here for some considerable time, whereas you may not. If he becomes too fond of you, and then you leave, it could hinder his recovery."

"Well, what do you want me to do? Tell him "you can spend time with me and have a hug now and again but don't like me too much?" What about how I might feel? I might not want to leave either when it comes to it. Look, Dr Kane. I'll be Arthur's friend. That's it. I doubt it would be anymore, even on the outside. I never had a relationship with anybody if you must know. Not even any physical fun since I was a teenager. And I'm not about to start now. I don't want him to be upset by anything I do."

She nodded slowly. "Fair enough. We'll leave it at that for now."

I left her office feeling chastised, and as if every member of staff would be watching our every move. I grabbed a coat and a pair of garden shoes from the cupboard near the dining room, and went outside, where I immediately came upon Arthur sitting on the bench where we'd first met. He was clean-shaven and wearing a red coat. I sat down.

"Hey."

"Hey, Travis. How was your meeting?"

"She asked me about you."

"I know. She's worried I might get too close to you and get worse than I am now. That maybe when you leave, I'll have one of my episodes and go backwards instead of forwards."

I nodded. "I said I would try not to do anything that would upset you. I am worried about what happens if I leave, though."

"Don't be." Arthur smiled. "You know what I told her? I said you are the only friend I've ever had. I would rather have this time to enjoy and be unhappy when you leave, than be lonely like I always have been."

I grinned. "I would, too. But everyone seems to be assuming I'll get out of here first. I might not, you know. If you keep tackling your issues, like you did with the thing about Sophie, you could get out, too."

"I suppose."

"I mean, how old are you, Arthur? Thirty-five?"

"Thirty-four."

"So, you had thirty-two years out there, when presumably you were doing okay."

He nodded. "Until the system cut my funding and I couldn't get my medication."

"So, there's no reason why you couldn't go back to that again, if the hospital can make sure you get your meds."

"Would you still be my friend?"

"On the outside? Sure."

"Could we go on a, um, a date?" His face reflected the colour of his coat, and he looked down at his folded hands, knees bouncing.

"You're asking me on a date?" I teased. I placed my hand over his. He untangled his fingers and held my hand instead.

"You can say no." He shook his head. "It was a stupid thing to say."

"It wasn't. But it's a way off—getting out of this place."

"I know that. I might never get out. But it'd be nice to have something to look forward to if I do."

"What would you like to do?" I asked. "On a date."

"I like to dance." Suddenly, he smiled. "I used to dance in my apartment, but I've never been anywhere that I could dance properly, and I never had anyone to dance with, except my, um, Penny. I liked to imagine I'd go for a nice dinner with someone—I used to think about doing that with Sophie—and then we'd go dancing."

"We could do that." I remembered him talking about dancing before, after he'd told me he shot three guys on the train. I had no idea where we could go dancing, but I figured there had to be some place in Gotham that catered for men who liked to dance together. There had been clubs like that in New York. "We could have dinner and go dancing. What's your favourite dinner?"

"Roast beef. Not the kind you get in a TV dinner, all thin and fatty, and the gravy like water with hardly any flavour. A thick slice of beef, with mashed potatoes, and vegetables, and thick salty gravy. I had that once, years ago, before Penny became bed ridden. She wanted to go out for dinner one Sunday. We went to a diner and they did wonderful roast beef."

"Sounds good to me." I squeezed his hand. "Roast beef dinner and dancing. I've never done that either." It was ridiculous to feel excited about something that may or may not happen in the far distant future, but I couldn't suppress the flutter in my chest. I'd never had anything to look forward to either, and it didn't hurt to have hope. Perhaps my hopes would be dashed eventually, but for the moment, I could let myself look forward to a day when Arthur and I had a date.

We sat on the bench holding hands and chatting until the lunchtime buzzer sounded. No one disturbed us, and we didn't talk about anything that made Arthur anxious. It was pleasant and relaxed. It was the first time in my life I'd spent time with someone this way and enjoyed every second of it.

Lunch was roast beef—the thin fatty type with watery gravy. Arthur glanced at me and laughed as he picked up his plate from the counter. The food looked just like the TV dinner he'd described. We found a table, and a moment later Barry came to join us.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

"Sure, help yourself," I said at once. "This is Arthur. Arthur, this is Barry. From New York."

"Hey, Arthur." Barry dug into his meal. Arthur responded with a slight smile but didn't speak as he poked his food unenthusiastically around his place.

I stretched my leg out under the table and nudged Arthur's ankle with my toe. He looked up and met my eyes. "You okay?" I mouthed silently.

He nodded and put his fork down. "I'm not very hungry."

"Try a bit of it?" I suggested. He hadn't eaten even one mouthful. "It's not bad. Slightly better than a TV dinner."

Barry looked up from his plate and glanced from me to Arthur and back. Then he shrugged and went back to eating. Arthur speared a single pea with his fork and put it in his mouth. He was clearly uncomfortable with Barry's presence. He never ate a full meal, but he usually did his best. Barry had no such difficulty and cleared his plate in minutes. Then he excused himself and left us.

"Hey." I rested my hand on Arthur's forearm.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'm not good with people I don't know."

"You didn't know me not so long ago. But it's okay. You gonna eat some of that now?"

"I suppose." He ate another pea.

I finished my meal and sat at the table with him until everyone else was long gone, while he nibbled tiny bits of food which must have been cold by then. His change in mood from when we were sitting outside together was so great, he could have been a different person.

Abruptly, Arthur pushed his chair back. He took his plate away and went to get a coat and shoes from the cupboard. I hovered, unsure if he wanted to be alone.

"You're invited," he said. "I just need to get out of here. There's a tree I like to sit under sometimes, where nobody can see me. The ground's dry now. It should be okay."

"Okay." I grabbed a coat and shoved my feet into a pair of old leather shoes and followed him outside. Around the corner of the building, a huge willow grew near the fence, it's branches hanging to the ground all the way around, creating an area around its trunk virtually invisible from the outside. We peeked through the leaves to check no one else was there, then ducked through and sat with our backs against the wide trunk.

"I don't want to be in here forever," Arthur said. "That means I have to untie the knots in my head and face things that are different to what I think they are. Like with Sophie."

"Is there something you want to talk about?"

"Yes. It's easier to talk to you about it to start with. I'm not too much of a burden, am I?"

"No." I shook my head. "But I don't know how best to help if you get upset and start laughing."

"Just be there. That's all. It stops, eventually. All my life people have avoided me because of that. They don't understand. They think I'm a freak. I always had these laminated cards with me, explaining I had a condition. I can't remember if I told you that. If I started laughing when I was near somebody and they got uncomfortable, I'd give them one of the cards. It didn't often help much." He shrugged. "I'm always going to have that problem. If I get out of here, it'll be like that again. Being pointed at, and laughed at, and bullied." He paused and cleared his throat. "Are you sure you don't mind me talking about this?"

"You can talk about anything you want. Here." I reached out and took his hand in mine. "I'm listening."

"Well, there were lots of times things like this happened, but this one stands out in my mind because they were just kids. Kids are supposed to like clowns and silly funny things, but these kids were awful. I was in my clown outfit, sign-spinning outside a music store. It was going out of business and I was supposed to draw in the crowds to their last sale.

"There was a group of kids; maybe five or six of them. I forget the exact number. Maybe I didn't count them. I just know they ran up and knocked the sign out of my hands, then grabbed it and ran away with it. I was upset and angry. If I lost the sign I'd get in trouble with my boss. And if I left the store I'd get in trouble, too. I chased them to try to get the sign back. They ran across the street and I followed. I almost got hit by a car. It was hard to run in my big clown shoes. I was out of breath, shouting to them to stop. Please stop." His breathing had grown fast, and he panted as if he'd been running. He clutched my hand tighter.

"They ran into an alley. I skidded as I turned. I almost fell. They were down there, but I didn't see the sign. I ran towards them. I had to get it back. But one of them was hiding out of sight. Suddenly he stepped out and hit me in the face with my sign. It broke and I fell down. Then they were kicking me and stamping on me. I put my hand on the back of my neck and the other one, you know, down there, to protect myself. They'd stop eventually. They were just kids." He started to laugh, breathless gasps of laughter. His nails dug into my hand, almost cutting into the skin. I ignored the discomfort.

"It's okay, Arthur," I said softly. I waited for him to catch his breath and finish the story. What had happened after that? Did he get up and grab one of the kids? Smash his head into the wall? Pierce his eye with a broken piece of the sign? I pictured all manner of gruesome outcomes for the awful kids, while Arthur laughed and held onto me. Finally, he rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath.

"I remember thinking I would have a lot of bruises. The back of my right shoulder hurt so bad, I wondered if it might be bleeding."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I waited. They ran away and I got up. It hurt to stand. It hurt more to walk. They were gone. I didn't do anything. I just went home. It was the same the other time. I told you about the Wall Street guys on the train, didn't I? They beat me, knocked me down, and kicked me."

"I remember. And you pulled the gun out of your bag and shot them?"

"No." He shook his head. "I didn't do anything. I didn't have a gun. I got off the train and I went home. That's all. I just went home."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur explains to Travis why his mind made up a different reality for him. Then things heat up between them.

"Why did you tell me before that you shot those guys?" I asked carefully.

"Because—" He shook his head and dragged his free hand through his hair. "After I was beaten by those kids, the next day at work I was getting changed. Randall saw my bruises. He said I needed to protect myself in the future, and he offered me a gun. It was in a brown paper bag in his locker. I was shocked. I mean, you're not supposed to have a gun." He giggled. "I didn't take it. I was too scared. I thought I'd probably shoot myself with it. But the next time something happened—when I was on that train and those drunk guys were laughing and singing and kicking me, I wished I had it. I imagined how much stronger I'd be if I had it. I wouldn't be a victim, lying on the floor bleeding and laughing.

"All my life I've been bullied and picked on and beaten. First with Penny's boyfriends, and then other kids in various care homes I was in, and then those kids who stole my sign. On and on and on. Always the victim." He started to laugh again. This time it continued until he was choking, almost vomiting. I held his hand and rested my other hand on his knee, squeezing gently. I hardly knew what to say. I felt out of my depth, and almost wished Wesley would come by at this moment. But I reminded myself that Arthur trusted me. He was exploring the shit in his mind with the intention of getting it straighter in his head, so he could talk to Dr Marks about it.

"I imagined I took the gun from Randall," he continued. "Then the next time I was attacked, which was on the train, I pulled it out and shot those guys. It's what I wanted to happen. It made it easier to think of that happening, than to think of myself broken and pathetic. Hated. Alone." He pulled his hand free of mine and covered his face with both hands. I waited for the laughter to start again, but instead he choked out a sob, and tears ran between his fingers and dripped onto his knees.

I didn't know what to do for the best. My instinct was to wrap my arms around him, but I hesitated to invade his space too much in case I upset him more. But eventually, his broken sobs got to me too much. I squeezed his knee and slid my other arm around him. He leaned against me, ineffectually rubbing his hands over his face to wipe away the tears and snot, but he kept on crying until he exhausted himself. He pulled away a little and wiped his face again. His eyes were red and swollen, framed by spiky wet lashes, and his mouth trembled.

"I'm sorry about that," he croaked.

"Don't say sorry to me. It's better to let stuff like that out." I rubbed his shoulder.

"Is there, um, is there anything you want to ask me? About what I said?"

"Do you want me to ask you anything?"

He nodded.

"Did you really believe you shot those guys? Or did you know it was a fantasy?"

"I believed it. When I got home that night, I kept imagining them dead, just how I told you the first time. That way, I could see myself differently. I wasn't so weak, or so hated. I was even powerful in a way. I told myself that story so often it became real in my head. Just like my relationship with Sophie. I wanted to stop being lonely so badly, I imagined she wanted me. I made up every little detail of our date, and when I got back from the train, after I shot those guys, I went to her apartment and we had sex. It was perfect in my head." He barked out a laugh. "You must think I'm crazy."

"No, I don't think that. I get why you did that. Are you gonna tell Dr Marks what you just told me?"

"Yes. Tomorrow." He rested his head against my shoulder. "There's more but I'm so tired, I can't think." He sniffed and a single tear rolled down his cheek. "Travis, are you real? I don't even know any more. Maybe I made you up the same way I made Sophie up."

"I'm real." I pushed his head up. "Look at me."

He met my eyes and blinked.

"I'm real. I'm your friend. Touch me." I grasped his hand and pressed it against my cheek. He explored my face slowly, his touch light and tentative, his expression studious with concentration. He ran his fingertips along my jaw, around my ear, through my hair, then traced the shape of my eyebrows. Finally, he stroked my neck and drew his finger over my scar. I pulled his hand away and tucked it inside my jacket instead, placing it over my heart. "Feel my heartbeat?"

"It's fast," he said. "Are you scared?"

"No. I'm just anxious because you got worked up." That wasn't strictly true. Despite the situation, I couldn't help imagining him touching me some other time, when he wasn't so torn up. I thought about him touching my chest under my shirt, feeling my heartbeat skin to skin. My pulse sped up more.

Arthur chuckled. "You're lying. Is it because I'm touching you?"

I grinned but didn't answer as he met my eyes again. He took his hand off me, grasped mine, and pressed it over his heart. It was galloping, thundering under my palm. He smiled and lowered his eyes.

I shouldn't have done it. Everything about it was wrong, after what had happened in the past few minutes. He was distraught and had just faced the fact that another part of the life he had constructed in his head had never happened. But I couldn't stop myself. His lips were inches from mine, so close I felt warm breath on my face. As our hearts pounded together, my blood headed south, and my dick started to fill. I leaned in the tiny amount required to bring our lips together. Arthur gasped, a soft sound of surprise, before he closed his eyes and parted his lips, pressing back against me. I explored his mouth slowly, holding back the desire to thrust in with my tongue. Gradually, he began to respond—awkward and clumsy, his nose bumping mine. Then he melted into it and his mouth slid against mine, hot and wet, little moans of pleasure escaping him as he wound both arms around my neck.

I couldn't even remember the last time I'd kissed anyone. It must have been almost fifteen years. Pathetic, really. I didn't think I was a bad-looking guy, but circumstances and my own screwed up head had prevented me getting close to anybody. I realised I needed it as much as Arthur did. I hugged him tighter against me, wishing we were somewhere else—anywhere else where we could be free to do whatever we wanted.

Arthur shoved his tongue into my mouth, not really having any idea how to do it in a sexy way, but the fact that he wanted to step things up made my dick throb. I gripped his jaw to steady him and stroked his tongue with mine, slower and more carefully. He moaned and dug his fingertips into the back of my neck. I could see this getting out of hand. It was only a kiss, but I was rock hard, desperate to touch or be touched, and it wouldn't have surprised me if Arthur was in the same condition. He moaned and panted into my mouth, his body squirming around in my arms. I pictured him hard, throbbing between his thighs, and myself sliding my hand down there to touch him. I shuddered and pulled my mouth away from his. He lowered his gaze, chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath.

"You okay?" I whispered.

"I was until you stopped." He squawked with laughter and took his hands off me to cover his mouth.

"We shouldn't be doing this," I said reluctantly.

"Why? Because Big Brother wouldn't like it?"

"They'd probably say it will screw up our recovery or some shit." I pulled a little further from him, keeping one arm resting around his shoulders. "Are you sure you even want to be doing this with me? When you fantasised about being with someone, it was a woman. You hadn't even considered being with a man when we first spoke about it."

Arthur swallowed and didn't answer for a moment. "I don't have anything to compare it to," he said slowly. "Yes, I fantasised about women, but I don't know what I would have done if I actually met one who liked me. You seem to like me, Travis. Do you?"

"Yes, I like you."

"You make me feel safe," he said seriously. "I trust you. I feel like I can tell you anything and it doesn't matter if it's real or not, because talking to you about it helps untangle things in my head. I know I get upset and freak out, but that's normal for me. I'm always going to laugh and sound crazy if I get nervous or I'm hurt. I like being with you, like this." He chuckled suddenly, and his cheeks coloured. "I don't fantasise about women anymore, Travis. I think about you when I'm alone in the shower. In my bed, too. I lie with my back to the camera and prop the sheet up with my knee. They probably know what I'm doing, but they can't see anything."

"Fuck," I muttered. My erection jumped and the urge to rub my hand over it was difficult to suppress.

Arthur laughed some more—not his wild nervous laugh, but a warm amused chuckle. "Would you want to do that some time?"

"Do what?" I said shakily. I knew exactly what he was asking, but part of me thought I should stop things going any further rather than risk screwing him up more, while the other part was so desperate to have his hands on me, that I just wanted him to say it. I wanted to hear him say he wanted to—

"Touch me," he said so quietly I barely heard it.

"Fucking hell, Arthur."

"I'm hard," he added.

"Yeah, me too," I agreed breathlessly. I froze, as voices could be heard outside the cover of the tree's long branches. I recognised Stephanie's voice and a man's. They grew louder as if they were approaching, but then faded again as they walked by.

Arthur giggled. "It's lucky they didn't look under here. I think this is one of Stephanie's hiding places. Rachel's, too."

"I can imagine." From what Rachel had said, I pictured her bringing an endless string of inmates to the shelter of the willow tree for some fun. It was surprising the staff didn't keep her under lock and key, but perhaps they had better things to do. There were a lot of us to watch over. "We should probably get out of here," I said reluctantly.

"I suppose." Arthur nodded, his face indicating his unwillingness matched mine as we ducked under the trailing branches of the tree into the bright sunshine.

I wondered what would happen if we stayed here and weren't disturbed. Maybe some other day. I glanced back at Arthur, his hands in his pockets in an effort to disguise his erection. I was doing the same thing, my hands curled into fists. Suddenly I couldn't wait to get back to my room, or to the shower, or the toilet. Anywhere that I could relieve the pressure.

We went back into the house, and Arthur excused himself to go to the toilet. I checked the shower room, but there were two other guys in there using the facilities. I went back to my room, wondering if I should try out what Arthur said he did. My balls ached and I had to do something.

I slid under the sheet on my bed and lay with my back to the camera. It was broad daylight and not ideal. If someone was watching me, it would be obvious what I was doing, but what the hell. I was so hard it hurt. I propped my leg up so the sheet draped over me like a tent and pulled my dick out of my underwear. I closed my eyes and imagined Arthur with me, his long thin fingers wrapped around me. I stroked myself, slow and gentle, not letting myself think about possibly being watched on the camera. Instead, I thought about Arthur and wondered if he was in a toilet cubicle with his dick in his hand, imagining it was my hand bringing him off.

Suddenly, I heard a groan of pleasure, and realised it had come from the next room. I strained my ears to hear more, and the sound came again. He was in his room, just fifteen feet away through the wall, jerking off. I tightened my grip and moved my hand faster. It didn't take long. As I reached the point of no return, I heard a louder drawn out groan from Arthur, and I knew he'd finished. I shot my load into my hand, pressing my face into the pillow to smother my own sounds of pleasure. For the first time in five years, I felt I had something to look forward to. It might never happen. It might be years down the road, but at least I wanted something—for both myself and someone else.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur comforts Travis after a bad dream, and later Arthur talks about Penny.

I ate dinner with Arthur that evening, and later we played chess. He was good. I was out of practise and had never been that great to begin with. In the first game he had me in checkmate within fifteen minutes. I lasted half an hour the second time, and by then half a dozen people had moved seats closer so they could watch.

"Shall we let someone else have a go?" I suggested.

"No, let him wipe the floor with you again," someone said.

"I'm not that bad." I chuckled.

"No, but Arthur's way better," another person put in.

Arthur grinned and flushed. "Come on, Travis. One more?"

We played another game. I took more care and planned out each move, but he still beat me in less than an hour.

That night when I went to bed, I jerked off again. I didn't hear any sounds from Arthur's room to indicate he was doing the same, but I imagined he was to fuel my own pleasure. Basking in the aftermath, I fell asleep easily for the first time in as long as I could remember.

A yell of anguish woke me. I lay staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, the sheets tangled around me and damp with sweat, my chest heaving as I panted for breath. The remnants of a dream lingered—gunshots, explosions, bodies torn apart and bleeding. I scrubbed my hands over my eyes and shuddered. Those dreams hadn't bothered me for a long time.

"Travis?" It was Arthur's voice, calling softly from next door. "Are you okay?"

"Shit," I muttered. That yell hadn't been part of the dream. It must have been me.

"Travis!"

"Yeah, I'm okay," I answered.

"You were screaming."

My hot face heated more, and I grimaced, glad he couldn't see me.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah. About Vietnam. I haven't had that in a long time."

"I'm sorry." He paused. "I wish we weren't locked in. I would come and give you a hug. I always wished I had someone to hug me when I had bad dreams."

"Me too. Thanks, Arthur. I'm okay."

I didn't sleep anymore. I put the light on and wrote in my journal—disjointed thoughts on the dream. I knew Dr Kane would ask me why I thought I'd had that nightmare after so long, and I wouldn't know how to answer. The only thing that had changed for me, was getting close to Arthur, but I wasn't sure how that would bring out my bad memories.

The door locks clicked off and in less than a minute Arthur appeared in my room, still in the T-shirt and pyjama pants he slept in, his hair tousled and a dark shadow of stubble on his face. He sat down on the bed as close to me as he could get and wrapped his arms around me.

"Are you okay?"

I hugged him back and pressed my face into his hair, breathing in the scent of him. Just having someone's arms around me was such a relief. I held him tighter and pressed my lips against the warm skin below his ear. "This feels so good. I'm okay."

"You sounded so scared," he whispered. "Was it bad?"

I wasn't sure if he meant the dream or the reality. "It was hell. In the dream I was back there, watching everyone around me die."

Arthur stroked my back and kissed my cheek. "That must have been terrible. Being there. I read about it, but I don't suppose the things that have been written give a proper idea of what it was like."

"No." I kissed his cheek in return. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too. You've been here for me when I needed it. I want to do the same for you."

We sat there holding each other for a few more minutes, until the need to empty my bladder made me reluctantly draw away from him. We both headed for the bathroom, then went back to our rooms to get changed for breakfast.

I didn't see Arthur for the rest of the morning. He went to see Dr Marks and didn't return for lunch, but as I was leaving the dining room, I saw him walking to his room, head down, arms wrapped around himself. I followed and when his door closed, I opened it again and slipped inside. He was pacing and wringing his hands.

"Hey."

"I couldn't do it." He walked back and forth, not looking at me, then lifted his hands and tugged at his hair.

"What couldn't you do?"

"Talk about it."

"Arthur." I grabbed him as he pulled out a tuft of hair. "Stop, you'll hurt yourself."

"I didn't tell Dr Marks what I told you."

"Why not?"

"I talked about Penny instead."

"The woman you thought was your mother, right?"

"Yes." He dug his nails into his arm and gouged at the flesh.

"Shit, Arthur, don't." I grasped both his wrists. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

He shook his head. "I rely on you too much. Dr Marks said I'm not supposed to bother you with my problems. You have your own."

"Bullshit. Sit down." I drew him towards the bed and made him sit down with me, then held both his hands in mine. "You were here for me after that dream. Even just talking to me through the wall helped. Nothing you've told me so far has messed me up. I hurt when I see you hurting, but it's not doing me any harm. So talk. Anything you want to tell me."

"I didn't kill those three guys on the subway," he said rapidly. "I didn't kill Randall either. I thought I did. He offered me the gun. I imagined I took it and I imagined I killed them. Then the police started asking questions. I got fired from my job because I had the gun with me in the children's hospital when I was performing, and I dropped it. Randall told the police I asked him for a gun and offered to buy it. Then he came to my apartment with Gary and I stabbed him with the scissors." He met my eyes, his wild and bright, the pupils enlarged. "None of that happened. It was in my head. And I didn't date Sophie or have sex or any of that. But I killed Penny. I killed her."

He spoke so fast I had trouble making sense of what he said. I couldn't remember who Gary was if he'd even told me before, but I assumed he must have been another co-worker, like Randall. Since Arthur never took the gun from Randall, I guessed the police had never asked any questions, and therefore Randall's body had never bled out in Arthur's apartment and been left there to rot, because, as Arthur had said once, it was too big to move. But Penny?

"I can't remember what I said about Penny," he went on. "She adopted me when I was a baby. When I was three years old, she was locked up in here. Her boyfriend abused me, and she did nothing to stop it. I was chained to the radiator and starved. I was beaten. I had a head injury because he smashed my head into the radiator. My jaw was dislocated from, um, from—" He laughed hysterically. "He, um, he, um, ha ha ha!"

"Arthur, take a breath. It's okay. Slow down a little." I released his hands and slid my arm around his shoulders. He laughed until he choked, clawing at his throat and gasping.

"He put his dick in my mouth. Fucked my mouth." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I almost choked. I can remember. I never could before. I don't want to remember that."

I caught the movement of his hand from the corner of my eye and looked down, too late to stop him cutting into his forearm with his nails. Blood welled into the crescent-shaped cuts. Not saying anything, I grabbed the towel I'd used in the shower, which was damp but clean, and wrapped it around his arm. "Arthur, look at me."

He opened his eyes.

"Keep looking at me. You're not there now. He can't hurt you anymore, and nor can she. It's just me."

"I know." He was panting for breath as if he'd been running. "I never remembered any of that. All those years. Over thirty years. I still thought she was my mother. She got out of the hospital and got an apartment on welfare. She got sick and I moved there to take care of her. I don't know what happened in between. It's sort of a blur. I don't know how she found me, or I found her. I forget. What did you do to my arm?" He glanced down suddenly and noticed the towel around his arm.

"Arthur, you cut yourself. It's okay, don't worry about it. We'll deal with it later."

He lifted his other hand to inspect his fingernails, two of which were stained with blood. "I'm sorry. It's a bad day."

"Did you tell Dr Marks all of this?"

"Yes. It's in my file. They all know anyway. But I didn't. It was another one of those things I blocked out. I knew I killed her, and I knew how I did it, but most of the reason I did it was gone. She had a stroke. I'm not sure why. That's a muddle in my head. There's this memory where the police went to the apartment when I wasn't there. They wanted to talk to me about the killings on the subway, but that can't be true because I didn't do that. So maybe they never went to the apartment and upset her and made her have a stroke. She probably had a stroke because she was sick. Or maybe because we had a fight. I yelled at her because she kept writing to Thomas Wayne about me. She thought I was his son. She was crazier than me." He began to laugh again, and I held him until it subsided. His thoughts were a muddle, and he jumped from one theme to another, but I didn't say anything. I just let him talk.

"Penny was in the hospital after the stroke. They took her in an ambulance. Not this one, the other one. The general hospital. She was in a room on her own with all these machines hooked up to her, beeping. I sat with her. Then I came here and got her file. They didn't want to give it to me, but I stole it and ran away. I read all about what happened to me. That I was adopted. That I was abused. That she was locked up in here and her boyfriend went to prison. She made out I was really her son. I thought she cared about me, but she was only using me because she didn't have anyone else to take care of her. I'm like this because of her. The laughing is because of the head injury. I was fine before. A normal child, or so they said. It was easy. I put a pillow over her face. She deserved to die. They should never have let her adopt a child. They should never have let her out of here. That's why I'm here, Travis. I killed her and I didn't try to hide it. When she was dead, I tried to kill myself. They found me and injected me with something, and I went to sleep. I woke up in here." He put his hands over his face. "They'll never let me out of here. They think I'm crazy. I killed my own mother."

"Arthur, it wasn't murder. It wasn't premeditated. You found out what happened to you and finished her off. Then you hurt yourself, too. I would have thought this will be a period of rehabilitation. They'll want to be sure you're not a danger to yourself anymore, and that you can sort out what's real and what's not in your head."

"You don't think I'm awful?"

"No, I don't. I probably would have done the same thing." The pieces of the jigsaw began to fit together in my head. I doubted he'd hurt anyone other than Penny. He'd already explained he didn't kill the guys on the train, or Randall, and that he had made up his relationship with Sophie in his head. Since nobody appeared to have heard of Murray Franklin, I thought that was probably a fantasy too, although I couldn't work out why he would have invented this guy. Perhaps he would tell me sometime. The rest of it began to make sense to me if it didn't yet to Arthur himself. Everything that he'd made up was a result of him being hurt and bullied and abused, and the Sophie fantasy was because he'd seen her and liked her, and he longed so much for someone to love him. "What did Dr Marks say when you talked about this? About Penny."

"That it was all in my file. They were just waiting for me to sort out what had happened and why in my head and talk about it. Occasionally, they prompt me with questions, but they don't do that often. I get hysterical."

"You've talked about a lot of things in the last few days. I think it'll help you get better."

"I hope so." He sighed and forced the tiniest of smiles to pull his lips up at the corners. "I don't want to be left in here when they let you out."

"I don't want that either. We both have to try to talk everything through and get better," I agreed. Suddenly, the possibility of us both being able to go back to a relatively normal life on the outside didn't seem so improbable.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Travis have some fun under the tree

We didn't talk anymore that day, or the next. We talked, but not about anything bad we'd been through. Too much had been faced in too short a time. Arthur was exhausted, and my nightmares returned the next night and the one after that. Each time I woke tangled in the sheets and damp with sweat, to the sound of Arthur's reassuring voice calling to me through the wall.

I wrote more in my journal and I talked to Dr Kane about it. I didn't want to, but Arthur was making such efforts to sort out his own mind, I figured I should do the same. I still wasn't a hundred percent sure why the dreams had returned, but I assumed it was because I was opening up more. I didn't bombard Arthur with my own shit, but when he asked, I talked, and it brought my past to the surface of my mind.

"I know you can't talk to me about Arthur," I said to Dr Kane a couple of days later. "But I'm guessing you know we talk to each other. He says it helps him, having someone to talk to other than the doctors. It helps me, too. I feel guilty telling him anything about my problems. I'm sure he's got enough to worry about, but it doesn't seem to upset him."

A faint smile touched Dr Kane's lips. "Arthur has talked about you. He says you help him, and I have to say that appears to be the case. Since you arrived here, he's talked a lot more than he usually does. He's sorting out what's real and what isn't in his head."

"Good. So long as it's not a problem."

Later that day, we watched the movie that was showing in the games room – The Vikings with Kirk Douglas. As usual, most of the seats were filled with the inmates watching, this being the highlight of everyone's day. The highlight of my day was spending time with Arthur. An hour into the movie, I could tell he had lost interest in it, as he fidgeted, twisted his hands together, and shot sideways glances at me when he thought I wasn't looking.

"You want to go for a walk instead?" I whispered.

He nodded. We slipped out of the room and made our way outside. It was a warm, dry day and we had no need for coats and outdoor shoes. We walked around the back of the building, and by silent mutual agreement made a beeline for the willow tree. My pulse quickened and when I took a surreptitious look at Arthur, his face was flushed with colour and the loose hospital pants did nothing to disguise the fact that he was half hard. Within seconds, I was in the same state.

We ducked under the trailing branches of the tree. I wondered if I should say anything. It was obvious something would happen, but perhaps I should check we were on the same page, and make sure I knew what Arthur wanted. Nervousness warred with excitement, and I realised I was almost as inexperienced as he was. I didn't want to fuck things up. Maybe he would only want to kiss, like we had before. We probably shouldn't fool around anyway. There was always the chance we would get caught.

"Travis." Arthur grasped my hand and pulled me towards him. He leaned back against the tree trunk, and as I took a step closer, he released my hand and slid his arms around me instead. I pressed up against him, unable to stop a groan escaping as his clothed erection bumped mine. I shivered with arousal and apprehension. Arthur trembled against me, his breathing fast and uneven. I rested one hand on his bony hip and lifted the other to his face. I should say something, but I couldn't get my mouth to work. All of the blood in my brain seemed to have headed south, leaving me incapable of thinking of a coherent sentence. Instead, I closed the small gap between our lips and caressed his carefully. He closed his eyes and gripped me tighter. I deepened the kiss and explored his mouth with my tongue, while I tried to figure out what to do next. He seemed to know what he wanted. Perhaps I should wait for him to give me some sign he was ready to do something more than kiss.

I was so hard I ached, and my balls were tight against my body. A slight movement of my hips rubbed my erection against Arthur's, giving me a little much-needed friction. I could come, just from this, I realised, but I wanted more. I wanted to feel his flesh against mine. Groaning, I pulled my lips from his. I was still worried about doing something wrong. After what he'd told me had happened to him when he was a kid, I could easily make a huge mistake and screw him up more.

"Travis," he whispered breathlessly, a pleading note in his tone.

"Are you sure you want—?" I paused. "Tell me what you want."

"You're worried I'll freak out after what I told you." Arthur smiled. "I won't. I trust you. I want you to touch me." He shifted his feet farther apart, so that my thighs rested between his. The movement made his dick rub against mine, and I groaned much too loudly. I bit off the sound as I leaned back a little and took my weight off him.

My hands shook as I gripped the elastic waistband of his pants and pushed them down over his hips. His erection tented the front of his white cotton boxers. I stroked my palm over it, making him gasp. A damp spot formed on the fabric, and I traced the small circle with my thumb. His dick jumped and he let out a whimper. I glanced at his face. "We'll have to be quiet."

He nodded, eyes half closed, teeth sinking into his lower lip. I pushed his boxers down and freed him. He was cut, like me, and his thick shaft bounced up against his belly. I hesitated, still nervous. Then I wrapped my hand around it. Arthur arched his back against the tree trunk, groaning softly. I ran my hand slowly up his length and rubbed my thumb over the tip, then stroked back down to the base. He shuddered and rolled his hips.

"Feel good?" I whispered.

"Yes." He kept his eyes closed as colour crept across his cheeks. "I imagined this last night. Your hand on me, while I was, um, masturbating."

Curiously, him using the proper word for it turned me on more than if he said he "jerked off." Ignoring my own desperate arousal, I kept stroking him, firm and slow the way I did it to myself. Arthur clutched at me with both hands, curling his fingers into my shirt. His hips bucked gently, pushing himself through my fist. Precome dribbled from his tip, slicking his shaft and my hand. He wasn't going to last long. He panted hard as if he'd been running, and his dick pulsed at the base.

"Travis, I'm gonna—" He didn't get the last word out before he spurted into my hand and onto the bottom of his shirt. I slowed down, teasing the last drops from him, before his eyes flew open and he giggled. "Stop!"

I released him, then unable to wait any longer, I shoved my pants and underwear down and wrapped my wet hand around my dick. Arthur looked down, his gaze fixed on me stroking myself. My face heated and I half-closed my eyes, but I couldn't stop myself. I'd never been so desperate to come.

"Wait." Arthur grabbed my wrist and stilled my hand, gripping with surprising strength. "Let me."

"You sure?" I gasped, my chest heaving. I was so fucking close and stopping made me ache.

Arthur pulled my hand away and I waited, frustrated, and stared at his hands as they hovered inches away from me. My erection jumped and seemed to strain towards him. Then he curled his fingers around it and lowered the other hand to cup my balls.

"Fuck," I muttered. I leaned on the tree trunk for support, my hands either side of Arthur's body. I rested my forehead against his and looked down, watching him stroke me off. It was almost too much. Everything was so sensitive. It had been so long since anyone's hand had touched me, besides my own. I couldn't watch anymore and closed my eyes. He moved his hand faster and it was too much. My dick pulsed, shooting its load in several hard spurts. I bit my lip in an effort to stay quiet and let my body slump against Arthur's. He pulled his hands out from between us and rested his arms around me. I became dimly aware that we probably had our mess all over our clothes. God knew what the laundry people would think, but what the hell. "Fuck," I said again. I couldn't seem to form any other words.

Arthur chuckled in my ear. "Feel good?" he whispered, repeating my words.

"Hell yeah." I kissed his cheek, then reluctantly peeled myself off him and tugged my pants up. I'd been right. The bottom of my shirt was damp, as was Arthur's. I'd unconsciously wiped my hand on my leg, too. Arthur stared at me, still grinning, with his pants around his knees. "Shit, cover yourself up," I said under my breath, as I heard voices approaching.

"Oops." Snorting, he pulled his underwear and pants back up, and smoothed his shirt down. We stood silently, waiting for the voices to pass by. They seemed to stop just outside the tree, and I recognised Rachel's voice, and Ray's. He was the other guy who'd come from New York.

"We could go under the tree," Rachel told him. "No one will see us under there."

"It's occupied," I said loudly. Arthur clamped his hands over his mouth to stifle a laugh and snuffled with amusement.

"Oh." Rachel peaked through the branches and glanced from me to Arthur. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't realise." She disappeared. "Come with me. I know another spot."

"Who was under there?" Ray asked as they walked away.

"Travis and Arthur."

"Really? I didn't know Travis was a fag."

I scowled. "I didn't know Ray was a bigot," I muttered.

"Ignore him." Arthur lowered his hands and grasped one of mine. "Don't let him spoil this."

"Yeah, you're right." I gave him a quick kiss. "It was amazing. Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Because—"

"Because of what I told you. Don't keep thinking about that. I'm fine. I would tell you if I wasn't. Or I'd laugh. We didn't do anything that upset me. I wanted it. I want it again, soon."

"So do I." I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him close. "I wish we could stay out here all night."

"Me too." He nuzzled my neck. "I want to be able to wake up with you some day."

"I want that, too. We need to focus on getting better. So we can get out of here."

"I am. That's why I'm talking. I never had any reason to before. A reason to want to get out, I mean. This just seemed like it would be the rest of my life. It's safe in here. But now I know you, I want more for my life. I want a home and a job and… and you."

"What would you do? If you were looking for a job?"

"I'd see if there were any entertainment agencies that needed a party clown. That's what I do. Or what I did. Did I tell you that?"

"Yes."

"It was true. I did do that. I loved it. I liked making kids laugh. Especially the sick ones in the hospital. What would you do?"

"I don't know. I guess I'd go back to driving a taxi."

"Did you like doing that?"

"It was okay. It was a job. I had insomnia, worse than I do now, so working all night was a good thing. By the time I got home, I could sleep a little during the day." I grimaced. "I drank a lot, too. And smoked."

"I smoked. I miss it sometimes, but I probably smoked too much. You know all the things I've told you? The stuff that I thought was real that isn't? Is there anything else you want to ask me? I want to talk. I want to sort out the rest."

"There was one thing I was wondering," I said slowly.

"So ask me. I won't get upset. Well, maybe I will, but it doesn't matter."

"Arthur." I drew back so I could meet his eyes. "Who is Murray Franklin?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tells Travis about Murray Franklin and proves he's really getting better

"He was a TV talk show host." Arthur stared thoughtfully into the distance and ran a hand through his hair.

"So, how has no one heard of him?"

"Wait." He held up a hand to silence me.

"Sorry."

"He wanted to be a talk show host," he corrected. "He was a comedian. A really funny older guy that used to come to visit and make us all laugh."

I wanted to ask who he visited and where, but I kept my mouth shut and waited for him to elaborate.

"It was when I was in care homes as a kid. He was around for years. I was difficult, and I went through maybe seven or eight different homes before I reached sixteen and got too old for them. Murray travelled around most of them, so I kept seeing him over the years. He wasn't anyone special. He was just a lonely guy with nothing else to do. He'd wanted to be famous, but he never made it into the big time. They didn't pay him. He just liked to make kids laugh, so he visited about once a month and put on a show for us. He was like this father figure that everyone looked forward to seeing, and he'd talk to you. He made time for everyone. I wished he were my dad. I never had one, you see." He paused and cleared his throat.

"I told him I wanted to be a comedian and he gave me some tips, and taught me some funny tricks, like making a magic wand produce a bunch of flowers, and getting someone to sniff the flower in your lapel, and it squirts water in your eye. He even set up a little show for me when I was about twelve, to perform for the smaller kids. I was useless." He shook his head and a laugh burst from him. This time, it didn't last long. "I got nervous and started laughing. They were used to me doing that, so they just laughed along with me until I got it together. I wasn't very funny. I kept having to look up jokes in this notebook I had, and my sense of humour was very different from most people's. But Murray clapped and they clapped, too, because he did, even though they probably didn't understand a word I said."

"That's sweet," I put in.

"Yeah. He was a sweet guy. He said once he wished he had a son like me. I got these ideas in my head that maybe he would adopt me. I wanted that so much. Then when I was fifteen, he went away and never came back." He gulped. "I kept asking where he was, and no one would tell me anything. I didn't find out until a year later after I left the last home I was in. I saw an old article in the paper. He, um, he—" Arthur started to laugh again, and this time he didn't stop until he was choking and gasping for air. "He went to prison. He'd been, um, doing things to some of the kids. The little girls. The idea I had about him caring about me and wanting to adopt me; of him being the perfect dad, was shattered. He was just a dirty old man using his job to get him into places where he could molest children."

"Did he ever hurt you, Arthur?" I asked carefully.

"No. As far as I know he never touched the boys." He rubbed at his face and took a deep breath. "As I got older, I guess the story of what happened got distorted in my head. He really was a talk show host. I went to see his show once, and I applauded the loudest. He called me up on the stage in front of everyone and told me he'd love to have a son like me. I was star struck and I wanted so much for him to be my father. Then later, I did this show in a comedy club. I don't know if I did or not. It's kind of blurry. I thought I did it and Sophie came to watch, but that didn't happen. Maybe I did it. I thought I was a big star, and everyone loved me, but really, I told these terrible unfunny jokes and laughed until I choked. Someone filmed me and sent the tape to Murray. He invited me on his show as a guest and I thought I'd made it. But all he wanted to do was make fun of me and have everyone laugh at me. I took the gun Randall gave me on the set and shot him in the head on live TV." He stopped and looked at me. "You can say something now."

"It makes sense." I took his hand and nodded. "You admired him and looked up to him, and he turned out to be something different. Something bad. Your mind changed the story, but in the fantasy, he still hurt you and you punished him. Just like with the Wall Street guys, and with Randall."

"And Penny. Penny was the only part of it that was real." He laughed—a real laugh. "Do you think Dr Marks will like that story? Do you think I'm fixed now?"

"I think you're well on the way to getting better. You know what's real and what isn't."

"It's funny. I've never been able to do that all the time I've been here. I was so sure it was all real."

"Maybe you just had to talk about," I suggested.

"I did talk about it, but I kept telling the doctors the made-up parts. I guess I don't trust them. When I first came here, they only wanted to fill me up with drugs and make me sleep. My mind was kind of fuzzy. Then when they lessened it, I just couldn't sort out in my head what happened anymore. I should say thank you."

"What for?"

"Making me talk properly. I never had someone to do that. Who was patient and didn't get freaked out by my laughing. My mind is clearer than it has been for most of my life."

"Are you going to tell Dr Marks all this in your next appointment?" I asked.

"Yes. What about you? Are you still writing in your journal?"

I grinned. "Oh, now it's my turn?"

"You have to, Travis. What if they say I'm well enough to leave, but you're not ready? What would I do out there on my own?" His eyes widened with anxiety.

"I guess they'd sort out some accommodation for you, and you'd look for a job as a party clown. And you'd wait for me."

"What if you get out first?"

"Then I'd wait for you." I leaned in and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. "We're in this together."

Arthur talked to Dr Marks two days later. Afterwards, he shut himself away in his room and wouldn't talk or even look at me when I went to see him. I worried it had gone badly, but the next evening he told me it had just been upsetting. Dr Marks didn't let him get the story out in his own way, and interrupted with questions, digging deeper into his mind at every opportunity until he laughed hysterically, threw up, and had to be sedated.

"That bastard," I muttered. "How'd he ever get a job as a psyche doctor? He makes things worse for you."

Arthur just shrugged.

"Are you okay?"

"I feel battered. Like after those kids beat me. And I feel empty, as if the inside of my body and my mind have both been ripped out."

"I'm sorry." I slid my arm around him and hugged him against my side. We were in his room, sitting on his bed. We had about another thirty minutes before the doors locked for the night, and I didn't want to leave him alone. But there was no way they'd let me stay with him. The door opened fifteen minutes later.

"Travis, come on, back to your room," Wesley said.

We both got up, intending to take a last quick trip to the bathroom before we were locked in for the next eight hours. When we returned, Wesley checked on us and a few minutes later, the doors clicked as the automatic locking system engaged.

I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling, wide awake. My mind was filled with Arthur and I imagined hours passed as I went over his story about Murray Franklin in my head. All of it made sense. Everything he'd told me made sense. There was nothing really wrong with Arthur, except for the laughing condition caused by the head injury as a child. Lots of people had hurt him, and he'd created fantasies in his mind to punish them. All he'd really done wrong was kill his mother, who wasn't actually his mother and had done more harm to him than anyone else. She deserved it, and I'd have wanted to finish her off too, if I'd known him before both of us wound up in Arkham.

Eventually, I must have fallen asleep. Arthur left my head and in his place, was Vietnam. I crouched in the jungle, hidden by vegetation, one of which you had to be careful of because it created livid and painful rashes if you brushed against it. Fellow marines hid nearby, waiting for a sign that the enemy was close.

The attack came from all sides. We were surrounded and many men died without having much chance to return fire. One of my buddies—a guy of just twenty—died not three feet away from me. Bullets peppered his body, ripping open his flesh until his guts spilled out into his lap. I fired, ducked, scrambled through the undergrowth on my belly in an effort to evade fire and capture. More men fell around me.

The scene jumped forward to after the battle. Me and a handful of other survivors worked our way through the trees, checking each body for signs of life, gathering the remains together to be burnt. As dark smoke coiled up through the trees, the smell caught in my throat and made me throw up.

What had actually happened changed a little in my head. I threw myself on the ground to stay beneath the smoke, searching for clean air to breathe. I continued to gasp, almost suffocating as I clawed at my throat. Why couldn't I breathe? My chest hurt. Perhaps I was meant to die there, too.

A loud click startled me, and I expected to look up and find a gun pointing at me, but all I saw was a pair of bare feet and the cuffs of white hospital pyjamas. I was on the floor of my room with smoke hanging above me, drifting in the slight draft from the corridor. The door was open.

"Travis!" Arthur crouched beside me. "Get up! There's a fire."

"Wha—?" I coughed, struggled to suck in a breath, and coughed some more.

"Come on. You're okay. This is real." Arthur grabbed my arm and tugged at me, pulling me up from the cold tiles. Instantly the air was thicker and more smoky. I bent double, choking. "Come on, Travis!"

I marvelled at how strong Arthur was when he wanted to be. There was barely anything of him, but now he half-carried me out of the room and down the corridor towards an open door. People milled around, shouting, screaming, with Wesley and Angela trying to make themselves heard above it all. I managed to get my balance and walk, leaning heavily on Arthur as my lungs strained. Suddenly we were outside in the cool night air, feet instantly wet from the dew on the grass.

"Travis!" Arthur gripped my shoulders and shook me.

"I'm all right," I gasped. "How are you not—?" I broke off and coughed hard. "How are you okay?"

"I have this." He showed me a wet shirt he had in his hand. "I put it over my mouth and nose. I wasn't asleep when the smoke started coming under the door."

"Do you know what happened?"

"No. Someone said there's a fire in the kitchen."

Instantly, I remembered New York. There was a fire in the kitchen. They thought it was an accident; a burner accidentally left on. Ray and Brian had both come from New York with me. Surely it was too much of a coincidence.

"Are you two okay?" Brian came over, rubbing his arms as if he were cold.

"Yeah." I nodded.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Probably. Same as New York?"

"Yeah. Just so you know, it wasn't me."

"Me either," I agreed.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked.

"Me, Brian, and Ray all came from New York after there was a big fire at the hospital. Everyone thought it was an accident, but it started in the kitchen the same as this appears to have done."

"You think it was deliberate?" Arthur's eyes widened.

"Maybe." I slid my arms around him and pulled him close, regardless of what Brian might think.

Wesley and Angela herded everyone together and ushered us farther from the building as screaming sirens approached. Finally able to catch my breath, I scanned the crowd of frightened inmates, but Ray was nowhere to be seen.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the fire, the ground floor residents of Arkham have to be rehoused and things might be looking up for Travis and Arthur

I started coughing again. I didn't think I could have inhaled that much smoke, but the effect of the small amount I had breathed continued to irritate my throat. Arthur made me sit down, and a few minutes later a paramedic came to check on us. They had attended to the worst affected first—Rachel and another woman, who were lying on mats on the grass with oxygen masks over their faces. One of the night staff had already been taken away by ambulance with the blue lights on.

Firefighters were in the building and others stood outside, directing their hoses through the windows. I didn't know how bad the fire was. There were no flames visible, but we were at the side of the building, while the kitchen was at the back.

"Leave it on," the paramedic told me, as I pulled at the plastic mask he'd put over my face. "What's his name?"

"Travis," Arthur said.

"Is he on any medication? Do you know?"

"Anti-depressants and sleeping pills," Arthur answered at once, then reeled off the names of the drugs I took. How did he know? I supposed they were the same as those he had. "I take the same ones," he added. "I'm fine, though. I put a wet cloth over my face and breathed through it."

"That's good," the paramedic said. "We'll check you over just to be sure."

It occurred to me that Arthur was unusually calm. Stressful situations often made him laugh. I reached for his hand. He squeezed mine and smiled. "I'm fine," he said. "I wouldn't be much use to you if I was hysterical, would I?"

"Is that why you're okay?" I asked, my voice muffled by the mask. "Because I was in trouble?"

"Maybe." He nodded.

"You saved my life."

Arthur giggled. "I don't think so. I just helped you get out."

"Exactly."

"Stay there. Don't move around." The paramedic got to his feet. "I'll be back." He went to Brian and Stephanie next.

I gazed about me and spotted two firefighters coming out of the building carrying a stretcher with a black plastic cover on it. I didn't know the patients in the secure wing, and I supposed it could have been one of them, but it seemed too much of a coincidence that Ray was missing. The body was loaded into a vehicle and taken away.

"I wonder who that was," Arthur mused.

"Maybe Ray."

An hour later, all of us were at the general hospital. Most of us were checked over and signed off into the care of Wesley, Angela, Dr Kane, and Dr Marks. A few additional staff had also arrived to take care of the residents. Some of the more unstable ones had been sedated and were waiting for hospital beds.

The rest of us were taken to a large relatives' room, and Angela began making phone calls. Who she was calling in the middle of the night, I couldn't guess, but when daylight came, we were ushered outside again and onto a bus, which took us to a shelter a short distance away.

"What's going to happen to us?" Stephanie asked anyone who might be listening. "Will we be able to go back to Arkham?"

"I hope not," a patient name Clarke muttered. "They should burn the whole fucking place down."

I smirked. "That might have been what Ray was hoping for," I whispered to Arthur.

A catering firm brought in food, and some of the staff returned to Arkham to collect clothing and other effects. Everything had to be laundered, but the following day we had clean things to wear. No one knew anything, or if they did, they weren't talking. By the end of the next day, Wesley told us the secure unit upstairs in Arkham had been unaffected, and the residents had already gone back. However, the ground floor was badly smoke-damaged, the kitchen was partly destroyed, and the electrics were blown, meaning the rest of us couldn't live there until substantial repairs were done.

"Wes, can I ask you something?" I stopped him as he was about to leave us.

"Sure, Travis."

"Where's Ray?"

"I'm sorry to tell you that Ray didn't make it. He inhaled too much smoke."

"Did he start the fire?"

"We don't know yet. It's being investigated."

"You must have your suspicions," I pressed. "Don't you think it's too similar to the fire in New York? I'm guessing you know about that. A fire in the kitchen in the middle of the night. And Ray was there, too."

"Well, I have to say it seems likely."

"But how could he have got out of his room?"

"He called for a toilet break. Marie went to take him—" Wesley said.

"They took her to the hospital, didn't they?"

"Yes, she was one of the first they got out. That's all I can tell you, Travis."

"Did he hurt her? A member of staff was killed in New York the night of the fire," I remembered. "Same situation, except we had toilets in our cells. He must have called for something else."

Wesley shook his head. "I've already said far too much."

I glanced around. We were far enough from the others not to be overheard, but Arthur was watching us curiously. "You know I won't say anything."

"You'll have to wait to see what the bosses say," was all he would add.

"Okay." I went back to Arthur. "It looks like Ray must have done it. He buzzed the staff in the night to go to the toilet. Marie went to him—you know the little blonde girl? She's in the hospital, but Wesley wouldn't say what happened. I think Ray must have done something to her; hit her maybe. It's pretty like New York. I wasn't sure of all the details of what happened there, but I guess I heard bits of it, and this here has helped put it all together. He should have been in the secure unit."

"That's awful. Marie's such a sweet girl." Arthur shook his head. "What do you think will happen to us? They said we can't go back to Arkham until it's repaired. With the way things are in Gotham, that could be months. Decent contractors are virtually non-existent."

"Maybe they'll let us out early." I grinned. I was kind of joking, but the thought had crossed my mind that if they couldn't accommodate all of us easily, perhaps some of the less at risk would be released. Realistically, how long did I have? I'd come to Arkham with two years still to go, but in New York, I hadn't made much effort to tell them what they wanted to hear. And Arthur—it had been only weeks since I met him, and the difference was immense. So long as we had a social worker and could stay on our medications, there was no reason why we shouldn't be able to function well enough out there. There was, of course, the matter of my sentence. Would the powers that be make allowances, or make me stay inside? I tried to think of the exact words of the lawyer over five years ago. I was to be rehabilitated and the length of my sentence reflected the severity of what I had done, and the fact that they considered I was still a danger to society. Was I still a danger in their eyes?

"What are you thinking?" Arthur asked.

"I'm getting ahead of myself. I doubt they'll really let us out. Especially not me."

"It's possible. I mean, we don't have prison sentences. We're being rehabilitated, aren't we? I guess it depends on how much of a danger they think we are. I never hurt anyone except the person who pretended to be my mother, and I only hurt myself because of what I'd done. My meds are sorted out. I still feel bad a lot of the time, but you can't fix depression. It doesn't just go away. I'm not going to start thinking of ways to kill myself if they let me out."

"It's not quite like that for me. The system doesn't view vigilantes very favourably."

We had plenty of time to think about it over the next couple of weeks at the shelter. Arthur and I, along with six other men, slept in an eight-bed dormitory with a member of staff watching over us each night. Arthur didn't get on well with the lack of privacy, but his bed was in the corner with mine next to it. I whispered to him for hours when the others were asleep, while our insomnia kept us wide awake. The first couple of nights, David, the nurse, told us to be quiet, but when he realised me not talking made Arthur toss and turn, get out of bed and walk about, and have laughing fits, he left us to talk as much as we liked. We didn't disturb the other patients, so he obviously decided we were harmless as long as we stayed in our beds.

Dr Kane and Dr Marks saw all of us on a rotation of every two days, with the appointments short to make sure they could see everyone. Before each of mine, I went over and over in my head the things I mustn't say. I managed to get through four meetings with Dr Kane without losing my temper and ranting about how what I did had been necessary. I had a real incentive now—the slight possibility of early release so long as I kept my cool.

Arthur told me he talked to Dr Marks about Murray Franklin and had relayed the story he told me twice, as well as going over all of the other memories in his head which weren't really memories, but things he'd made up. When we were together, we talked out each point until we'd beaten them to death. None of the things Arthur talked about resulted in him laughing anymore, except for the all too real memories of reading Penny Fleck's file and finding out what had happened to him as a child, but that was enough to upset anyone.

"What's happening with Arkham?" I asked Dr Kane one morning. I'd finished recounting my reasons for killing Iris's pimp and his henchmen once again, and as far as I was aware, had convinced her I'd gone over the top in my efforts to help a child.

"It's being repaired."

"How long are we staying here?"

"I can't tell you that, Travis. What I can tell you, is that you have another appointment this afternoon."

I rolled my eyes. "Aren't you sick of hearing me repeat myself over and over?"

Surprisingly, a tiny smile touched Dr Kane's lips. She looked tired, I noticed. "Not with me. With your lawyer."

"I have a lawyer?" My pulse quickened. There could only be one reason why I would have such a meeting. They were considering letting me out.

"State appointed, of course."

"Trying to get rid of me?" I joked.

"Obviously this situation can't continue. This building is on loan to us, but the availability is not unlimited. It will be some time before Arkham's lower floor is habitable again. The entire unit's wiring system is being replaced."

"Are you supposed to be telling me this?"

"Perhaps not. I shouldn't tell you this either, but I'll be changing jobs at the end of the month, so I won't be here anyway."

I grinned. "Getting sick of us?"

"Actually, I fancied a change. I'm going to be a welfare social worker, so you may well see me at some point in the future. Your appointment will be in this office at two o'clock. Good luck, Travis." She closed her file and smiled, indicating it was time for me to leave. I left.

"Shit," I muttered, as I went back to the dorm to find Arthur. Could I really be getting out? What about him? What if I went and he didn't? What should I tell him? The truth, I decided immediately. Even if I waited until after I saw the lawyer and knew what they were doing, he'd probably notice I was acting differently. I went to sit next to him on his bed.

"How did it go?"

"Dr Kane's leaving us."

"Is she? I don't blame her. She must be sick of hearing our crap day after day."

"She might not get away from it. She's going to be a social worker on the outside. Arthur, there's a lawyer coming to see me later."

"What?" His eyes widened. "Are they letting you out?"

"I don't know. I guess they want to talk about that. Dr Kane said this building is on temporary loan. We can't go back to Arkham yet and it seems like they need to get rid of some of us, probably so the rest are easier to house."

"You're leaving. You're leaving me?" His eyes went wider still, and he started to laugh.

"We don't know that yet."

"They wouldn't s-send a l-lawyer if they weren't s-s-sure." His laughter took over and he stopped trying to talk. He pressed his hands over his mouth.

"Hey, come on." I wrapped my arms around him. "Don't get upset. It might not happen, and if it does, who knows? Maybe you'll get out, too. Let's just wait and see."

"You two okay?" Wesley came into the room and approached. A few other residents were staring.

"We're fine." I hugged Arthur tighter. "There's a lawyer coming to see me."

"Ah, yes." Wesley smiled. "I heard about that. Don't get ahead of yourself, Arthur. You'll be all right, I promise."

Arthur ignored him, choking and gasping, as his laughter subsided.

"Do you know something?" I asked Wesley.

He smiled more and tapped his nose. "Let's just see what happens."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis is released with an electronic tagging device, but finds himself lost and unsure on the outside.

The meeting with the lawyer was short and to the point, and it went the way part of me expected, while the other part didn't dare hope. I was to be released early. There were far too may patients to find alternative places for, and Gotham didn't have those places anywhere. I was to be allocated some form of housing—probably a studio—and would receive welfare payments while I sought work. I would be expected to attend twice weekly meetings with a social worker and given prescriptions for my medication.

"Aren't they worried about what I might do out there?"

"You'll be fitted with a tracking device that you won't be able to remove. The moment you are seen to be doing anything that doesn't fit with what you're expected to be doing, the police will pick you up."

"Figures." I nodded. "How long for?"

"A year. Then it will be reviewed."

"Okay. What about Arthur Fleck?"

"I don't know that person. I'm appointed by the state to deal with you, Mr Bickle." He pushed some papers across the desk. "Read these, please, and sign where indicated."

The papers repeated what he'd told me, in more detail, and with a lot of fancy words that made the explanation less clear than he had. I read it laboriously and scrawled my signature at the bottom. Ten minutes later, he was gone and Angela came into the room to talk to me.

"I suppose you know what's happening," I said.

She nodded. "I can't say I agree with it, but we don't have any choice."

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning. We've already sourced housing. You may or may not know that Dr Kane is leaving us. She's working out her notice, but in a week's time she will be your social worker. Prior to that, you'll see someone at the General Hospital."

I nodded. "I suppose there are more people being released."

"Yes. All of those who are deemed not to be a danger to the general public, or to themselves where possible."

"Arthur Fleck?" My heart had begun to pound with anxiety. Wesley had given me a bit of hope, but I couldn't believe we'd be lucky enough to both be released.

"I can't tell you anything about other patients," Angela said stiffly. "If he decides to talk to you, then that's his choice."

I rolled my eyes. Her answer didn't surprise me. She did everything by the book. "Are we done?" I asked.

"Yes, you may go. We'll arrange for some clothes to be provided for you later today, so you'll have something to wear when you leave. The tracking device your lawyer advised you about will be fitted in the morning by a police officer."

"Wonderful." I left the office, excited and terrified. I hadn't been out in the world for over five years, and I didn't know Gotham. What would I do out there alone? How would I get work? I imagined myself living in a pokey apartment with no money, unable to get a job because of my history, and unable to afford to get my own cab and start up again. I'd have nothing—not even Arthur. I'd have less than I had locked up in the crazy house.

I returned to the dormitory and sat on my bed. No one else was in the room, and I expected the other patients would all be in the day room. My depression began to creep in, adding to the anxiety I felt about starting life on the outside. I absently picked at the skin on the back of my hand with the nails of the other, wondering how easy it would be to cut through the skin. I snatched my hands apart and sat on them. It was almost as if I were trying to do something that would make them think I wasn't fit to be released.

"Hey, Travis." Arthur appeared and sat beside me. "Are you okay."

I shrugged.

"What did the lawyer say?"

"He, um, he—"

"They're letting you out, aren't they?"

"Yeah," I whispered.

"Then why aren't you happy?"

"What the hell am I gonna do out there, huh? Sure, I want to get out, but it's a dream. What we've been talking about is a fantasy. I can't go back to being a taxi driver, just like that. No cab company is going to hire me, and I have no money to get my own car." I shook my head. "It was different to this in my head. We'd both be out, starting new lives, and going on a date." I was surprised he wasn't upset, but he only smiled.

"We'll still do all that. They're putting me in an adult shared home to see how I get on. There isn't really room for me, but it's the best they can come up with. They're reviewing it each month and if I get on okay, I'll be released too."

"Seriously?" I looked up and met his eyes.

"Yes. I can have visitors, too. It's not like Arkham. You can come and see me, if you want to."

I forced a small smile. "Of course I want to."

"Did they not tell you about the help with finding work?"

"Um—" I thought again about the meeting with the lawyer, and Angela's words. "It started to get muddled in my head. I think so. Something about weekly meetings."

"They said the same to me. If I do okay and they let me out, they'll discuss work options with me, what I want to do, and point me in the right direction. I don't think they're going to just dump us and leave us to our own devices."

"How are you so calm and sensible about all this?"

"I don't know." He smiled more and shrugged. "I guess because I have you. I didn't think they'd let me out yet. Maybe not for a long time. But the shared home is better than Arkham. We even get to go out occasionally, to the park, or to shops. Not alone, but it's better than nothing. I suppose they don't want to run the risk of me getting upset about someone making fun of me, and making up stories about how I killed them."

"How can you joke about your situation?" I asked incredulously.

"Because I've started to accept it. Things are straighter in my head than they've ever been. I know what happened and what didn't. I don't feel like such a crazy person after all."

I pulled my hands out from under my legs, and slid one arm around him. "I'm gonna miss seeing you every day. I don't know what I'll do when I want someone to talk to."

"We can still talk every day. They told me the home has a phone, and I can have two calls a day if I want. If your place doesn't have a phone, you could call me from a public phone, if you wanted."

"You're amazing, you know that?" My anxiety had reduced, while listening to his common sense—something which had deserted me. I kissed his cheek.

"I'm not really. I'm just telling you how I see things. I'm sure it will work out okay. I'm scared about getting out, too. I'll be scared just going out for a walk in the park, because I'll imagine all the worst things that could happen. Maybe some kids will make fun of me, or other people will bully me. I'll probably be so worried about it, I'll start laughing and draw attention to myself. But I won't be on my own to start with, and even if I was, nothing will be any worse than it was before I went into Arkham."

"At least we'll have plenty to talk about." I was finally able to smile.

"Exactly."

"You want to lie down for a while?" I suggested. No one else was in the room. We wouldn't be able to do anything, but nobody could really complain if we cuddled each other.

"Okay."

I lay down on the narrow bunk, and Arthur did the same, facing me. There was just enough room for us both to fit on the mattress if we were close together, which had been my intention. I slid one arm under Arthur's neck and the other around his waist as he pressed himself against me, one hand resting on my chest.

"This feels so good. I can feel your heartbeat," he said softly.

"It does feel good." I closed my eyes and concentrated on my other senses instead—the soft sound of Arthur breathing, the warmth of his body resting against me, his hair tickling my cheek, and the smell of his shampoo. If I never had to move and lose this feeling, I'd have been in heaven.

"Arthur! Travis!" Wesley's voice came to me through a fog, and I opened my eyes to find myself lying on my bunk with Arthur. We had apparently fallen asleep. Arthur sat up, giggling and flushing.

"Sorry," I muttered. "Fell asleep."

"Don't worry, guys." Wesley grinned. "Time for dinner."

The meal consisted of mashed potatoes, sausages, and peas—something we had a lot of. I supposed it was cheap. For once, Arthur cleared his plate. There were less seating places in this facility, and we had to share a table with Brian and Stephanie, who updated us on their situations. Brian was to be released, with three weekly meetings with a social worker, and Stephanie was to go into a shared home like Arthur.

"I hope it's the same one," she said to him. "At least we know each other."

"I'll visit you," Brian promised Stephanie.

Arthur and I smiled at each other. I would visit him at every available opportunity; every day if it was allowed.

That night, I didn't sleep a wink. I continued to worry about what I would do on the outside, and the time passed all too quickly. After breakfast, I was provided with some clothes to change into—cheap hand me down pants, shirt, sweater, and jacket, and a pair of shoes, with new socks and underwear. I barely had time to say goodbye to Arthur, before I was ushered out of the building along with Brian and four other people.

We were taken by minivan, supervised by a carer called Susan whom I didn't know that well, to the police station to be fitted with our electronic tags. I expected them to be ankle bracelets, the kind of which I'd seen in movies, but they were wrist tags instead, secured in place so they couldn't be taken off, but resembling watches in design so they were less obvious to other people. From there, we were taken to a part of the city that reminded me of the Bronx in New York—rough, rundown, and covered in graffiti. Brian and I were offloaded first, and we both expressed some relief at finding ourselves allocated rooms in the same building.

Thirty minutes later, I was alone in my studio, which consisted of a living room with a fold-out bed and a tiny kitchen area, plus a bathroom with toilet, sink, and shower. I sat on the couch, which the bed formed when it was folded up, and stared at the threadbare rug on the wood floor. This was it. I was out, and I had no idea what to do next.

An hour later, a tap on my door pulled me out of my muddle of worried thoughts. "Travis?"

"Yeah, come in," I called to Brian.

He opened the door, came in, and closed it. "What are you doing?"

I shrugged. "Nothing."

"Same. We should probably get groceries or something." He pulled the envelope from his pocket which I assumed held the same amount of cash as that I'd been given to last us until the following week. He checked through it and put it away again. "We could go together," he added, sounding hopeful.

"Yeah." I got up. "Sounds good."

Brian wasn't much of a talker with me, unlike Arthur, but today he talked. He was experiencing all the same worries that I had. How would he manage out here? How would he get a job? What if something went wrong?

"We should spot each other," I suggested. "It could have been worse. We could have all been scattered in different places through the city. At least we're in the same building. We can keep an eye on each other. Help each other out."

"Um, yeah. Sure." Suddenly he looked wary. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"You're, um, gay, right?"

I snorted. "No, I like both. Why?"

"Well, um, I don't. Just so we're clear."

I outright laughed. "Don't worry, Brian. I'm not interested in you. I like Arthur, okay? When he gets out, we're gonna be together. Until then, I'm on my own. I'm gonna visit him, though."

"Oh! Right. Good." He flushed and looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Instead, he looked around him at the street we were wandering down, and pointed at a store. "Look. Food store. This'll do."

That was the end of the awkward exchange. We headed into the store to buy groceries. For me, it was the first time in years and I had no clue what to buy to sustain myself for a week. An hour later I was back in my new home with two brown paper sacks filled with cereal, bread, milk, coffee, and cans of stuff that I couldn't open because I didn't have a can opener. Another trip out was in order, but I decided to leave that until the next day and think about what I needed before I went. In the meantime I made the first cup of coffee I'd drunk in years, in a chipped old mug I found in one of the cupboards. I discovered I really didn't like it all that much after all.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis has an appointment at the employment agency, and sees Arthur at the shelter.

I went out again before the stores closed and picked up some more clothes from a thrift store—a bunch of mismatched shirts and pants—plus some extra underwear and socks from Walmart. On the way back to my new home, I bought a pack of cigarettes and some matches and smoked for the first time since before I was shot in New York. The nicotine made my head spin, and I sprawled on my couch, blowing smoke at the ceiling and thinking about Arthur.

I'd been whisked away so quickly that morning, I hadn't thought about how we would contact each other. He didn't know where I was, and I couldn't get in touch with him unless I went back to the shelter. I would do that, I decided, and at least give him my address so he could send me a note when he was settled. I thought about that most of the night when I couldn't sleep, when I wasn't thinking about how I would survive out here, and what I would do for work. I had an appointment with a social worker at the hospital in two days' time, followed by an appointment with someone who was supposed to help me with the work issue. Perhaps they would have some ideas I hadn't thought of.

When the sky finally lightened with the approach of the next day, I took a shower and discovered my water flow was slow and the water was tepid at best. I had cereal, coffee, and a cigarette for breakfast, and realised I could get used to smoking again a lot more easily than I could get used to drinking coffee. Perhaps I should try tea.

I headed out early and after numerous wrong turns, managed to find my way back to the shelter where I'd lived for the past couple of weeks. The door was locked, and I rang the bell, relieved when Wesley opened it a minute later.

"Travis! Missing us already?" He grinned.

"I wanted to let Arthur have my address so he can write to me with a number or something, when he gets settled."

"Sure, no problem. How's your new place?"

I shrugged. "It's okay. It's freedom, I guess."

"How was your first night?"

"Well, I didn't sleep, but that's nothing new. Can I see Arthur?"

"I think you can have a few minutes. Come in and wait here." He gestured to a chair inside the door. I sat on it and waited. Voices drifted to me from the room where the remaining residents were having breakfast.

Arthur appeared a minute later, with a thin smile on his face as if he'd pinned it there for my benefit. I jumped up and held out my arms for him to step into. He pressed against me and hugged me as if he meant to squeeze the life out of me.

"Are you okay?" I ran my hand over his back, feeling every knot of his spine.

"I miss you."

"Miss you, too."

"What are you doing here?"

"I realised we don't have a way to contact each other. I thought if I give you my address you could write me a note when you get to your new place, and tell me where you are, or give me a phone number."

"That'd be good. What's your new place like?"

"It's a cheap room with a crappy shower. It's all right."

Arthur pressed his face into my hair and breathed in. "You smell like cigarettes. Did you start smoking already?"

"Yeah." I chuckled.

"May I have one?"

"Sure." I let him go and pulled out the pack and the matches. I lit two and passed him one. He took a long drag and blew the smoke out of his nose. "Take it steady. You'll be stoned before you get halfway down it."

Arthur grinned and took another drag, then closed his eyes as he breathed out again. He swayed a little, and I slid my arm around him. Wesley appeared a moment later.

"Guys, come on!" Clicking his tongue, he opened the door to let the smoke out. "Get rid of those. You'll set the alarm off."

"Can I stand outside?" Arthur stuck his arm out of the door, still gripping the cigarette. "I've been waiting two years for this."

"Go on. You move more than six feet from the building, and you're in trouble."

We stepped outside and leaned against the wall, smoking in companionable silence. "I have an appointment about work tomorrow," I said. "After I see a social worker at the hospital. I don't know what they'll do. Probably send me to work at a store packing groceries, or some shit."

"I hope you get something that's not too awful."

"I don't really care," I decided. "So long as I get something. If I fuck up, they might lock me up again, if they can find anywhere to put me."

"You said you were going to give me your address," Arthur reminded me. "Do you have something to write on?"

"Um, no."

"I'll get my journal." He crushed out his cigarette, which he'd smoked almost to the filter, and slipped back into the building. When he returned with his journal and a pencil, I wrote the address of my apartment in it.

"I know where this is!" He smiled. "I lived in an apartment with my, um, Penny, on the other side of the street a few blocks down. As soon as they find somewhere for me, I'll write to you."

I stayed another ten minutes, until Wesley returned and told Arthur he had an appointment with Dr Marks. Then I reluctantly left him and went home. It seemed strange having a home, but I supposed I should think of it as that. Who knew how long I would live in the pokey little room?

The day crawled by. I spent part of the afternoon hanging out with Brian. He started smoking, too, and we made our way through the rest of my pack of cigarettes until we felt queasy. Until we had our appointments—his were the next day, too—there wasn't much we could do. As tempted as I was to seek out a theatre, I was already down to my last few dollars after buying clothes, and I didn't want to run out of cash completely and not be able to top up on food and cigarettes until the next week.

I spent another night tossing and turning, wide awake and thinking about my future and Arthur. I eventually fell asleep at dawn, and when I woke, I had to hurry to get to the hospital for my appointment with the social worker.

He was a tired-looking guy of about Dr Kane's age, who looked like he would rather be anywhere than in his office talking to me. He had a file in front of him and asked me a string of questions about the things I'd done and how I felt, showing little interest in the answers. My temper started to rise, but I quelled it and thought about what Arthur would say to me. "Tell them what they want to hear."

At the end of the meeting, he gave me a prescription for my anti-depressants and sleeping pills, and an appointment card for later in the week. When I left, I made my way to the employment building for the second meeting, which I hoped would have a more positive outcome.

"Travis Bickle?" The man I saw was about my age, with perfectly coiffed hair and a grey suit and tie. My heart sank as I imagined him not being able to help and looking at me warily as he read the sheet of paper in front of him that probably said "Arkham Escapee" on it. I tugged the cuff of my jacket down to ensure my security bracelet wasn't on show.

"Yeah." I slumped on the chair in front of his desk.

"My name is Gareth. I've been reading the information I've been sent about you."

"I bet you have," I muttered.

To my surprise, he smiled reassuringly. "It says you used to be a taxi driver. Is that something you'd like to do again?"

"Um, yeah, I guess. I don't see how, though."

"Well, you see, there is this scheme—" He leaned forward on the desk as if he were about to tell me something incredibly exciting, and explained animatedly that there was a fairly new company who helped wannabe taxi drivers get on their feet. They provided you with the cab, you went off and ran your business, and paid them a sum each week towards the cost of the car. When it was all paid off, it was yours. They expected a high return each week, but most successful drivers managed to do it in a year if they worked hard.

"And they'd have me, would they? You know my past?"

"If we recommend someone to them, they give them a chance. Gotham's not all bad, Travis. There are some companies who try to help people get on. Now, I need you to fill out these forms." He pushed some papers across the desk towards me, along with a pen. "I'll send these on to Checkers and they'll request you go for an interview, but it's a formality. So long as you don't get into any trouble, and you pay them what they ask at the end of each week, they'll be happy."

"Sounds too good to be true." I began filling out the forms. "Do they employ a bunch of criminals, or what?"

"You won't be working for them, Travis. You'll be working for yourself. Let's just say they help people such as yourself, who have fallen on hard times, or are young and new to the world of employment, get on their feet. Checkers is just one branch of this company. They have two factories also, which employ those who need a boost up the ladder."

"There wasn't anything like this in New York."

"Gotham is a fairly new city compared to New York. It has new ideas."

"Here you go." I pushed the forms back across the desk. Gareth checked them and nodded. "I'll fax these over this morning. I see you don't have a phone. They would normally write to you in these circumstances, but if you'd like to save some time, I can ask them to respond via our office. It's a quick process. If you call back the day after tomorrow, we should have an appointment for you for the interview."

"That's great. Thanks. Please do that." A little shell-shocked, I got up, shook his hand, and left the office. Could it really be this easy? I'd spent over five years locked up for killing Iris's pimps in what the papers had said were "vigilante-style murders," and I was about to walk into a career which didn't seem to have any restrictions. Gotham sure was weird. I'd never have got something like this in New York. I'd be scrubbing public toilets or collecting garbage.

When I got back to my "apartment," I wrote in my journal. The hospital social worker had told me it was important to keep that up. The words I scrawled on the page were the most positive I'd written in years. I may actually have a future out here. Now, if only Arthur could join me.

I thought about him constantly over the next couple of days. I had nothing to do other than hang out with Brian. He'd been to the employment office too and was awaiting an interview with one of the other companies connected to Checkers, working in a motor parts factory. "Maybe I'll be making parts for your cab!" he had joked, enthusiastic about starting work, even in such a different field to his past. He'd been an insurance broker before he wound up in the asylum in New York.

After I'd been back to the employment office and received an appointment card for Checkers, I decided to go back to the shelter to see Arthur after the interview. He'd said he would write, but if they hadn't found a place for him yet, perhaps he had nothing to say.

The interview went the way Gareth had said it would. I had to fill in another form and let them Xerox my drivers' licence. Then I was asked about my taxi driver history and my hopes for the future. Nothing was mentioned about what I'd been doing in the interim. The meeting was more of an information-collecting exercise than an interview. The job was a foregone conclusion, and after half an hour, I was shown around a two-year-old car with "TAXI" logos stuck on it and advised I could pick it up the next day. It came with insurance, which made the cost high, but I figured if I worked seven nights a week to start, I should be able to pay for it. They didn't expect a payment for two weeks, to give you the chance to get started.

Excited, I walked all the way to the shelter—over three miles, I estimated, as it took me an hour. I couldn't keep the grin off my face when I rang the bell and waited for someone to answer. My smile didn't even slip when Angela opened the door.

"Hello, Angela. May I see Arthur?" I asked.

She frowned in response. "That's not possible."

"Why?" Anxiety spiked and finally my grin vanished.

"Arthur is no longer with us."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis gets his new taxi cab and goes to visit Arthur

I'd heard people say the bottom fell out of their world, or their heart fell out of their chest, and I always thought they were ridiculous exaggerated analogies for a shock. But Angela's words made the bottom fall out of my world. People said "he's no longer with us" when someone had died.

"What happened?" I croaked, not wanting to hear the answer.

"He moved on."

"What does that mean?"

"He's gone to his new home," Angela said impatiently.

"Jeez," I muttered. I wondered if she'd phrased it that way on purpose to upset me. I always got the feeling she didn't like me, which wasn't an attitude you wanted to see from someone who was employed to care for others. "Where?" I added.

"I can't give you that information. I'm sure he'll contact you if he wants to."

"Fine." Dejected, I walked away and made my way home. I had enough money left for another pack of cigarettes and a couple of bottles of beer, and I bought those rather than worry what I might eat at the end of the week. Still, I was getting my cab tomorrow. With any luck, the next day I'd have cash.

I spent the rest of the day in my room alone. Brian knocked once, but I stayed quiet and pretended I wasn't there. I didn't feel like socialising. All I could think about was Arthur and hope he was okay. There was nothing I could do but wait for him to contact me. I didn't know if Angela's refusal to tell me where he was, was her being mean or the rules. Perhaps Wesley wouldn't have told me either.  
Later, I went down to check the mail. The key to my room came on a chain with another smaller key which was for the mailbox allocated to my room. The mailboxes were on the ground floor in the dingy lobby. Mine was empty—of course it was. If Arthur had sent me a note, it wouldn't have had time to arrive yet.

Dejected, I counted off the hours until it was time to open my fold-out bed, then counted the hours as the night crawled by. This time tomorrow I would be working, and the night wouldn't seem so long. As soon as I had some spare cash, I would get a TV. The silence and loneliness were unbearable.

When dawn finally came, I got up and made coffee. It didn't seem so unpalatable with the taste of smoke in my mouth, but the rate I was going with the cigarettes, I'd be getting through a pack a day in no time. I tried doing some exercises to pass the time and start toning myself up. I'd done virtually nothing for years and was out of shape. I did fifty crunches until my stomach ached, then tried push-ups. I managed ten before my arms were shaking too much to continue. Then I jogged on the spot for half an hour, before taking a lukewarm shower.

Eventually, I was able to head out to collect my cab. I walked to the depot I'd been to for my interview, and found the car sitting at the kerb out front waiting for me. All that was required was for me to sign something in the office, before I was given the keys and a reminder that my first payment would be due in two weeks' time. I had to make a minimum of three hundred dollars, but if I exceeded that, I could pay more if I chose to. After the first payment, two hundred a week was expected.

Much to my relief, the car came with one full tank of fuel. I began to head back to the apartment, but then thought, what the hell. I may as well start right away. I drove to the central railway station instead, where a line of cabs was waiting for customers. Turnover was fast at this time of day. It was still rush hour, and within twenty minutes I was at the front of the line and got my first fare. The young businessman only needed to go across town, and my meter charged him four bucks, but he gave me a five and told me to keep the change. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

By lunchtime, I had only twenty dollars and I decided to go home and start again in the evening. After midnight, the meter charged more and there may be less cabs on the roads. I parked the car on the street behind the apartment building, and checked the mailbox on the way in. This time, there was a small brown envelope there. I snatched it up and looked at my name and address, printed in the handwriting of a child, and a smile spread across my face. I headed up to my room, waiting until I had closed the door behind me before I opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper, neatly folded.

"Dear Travis, I have mooved to an adult carehome. I have my own room. Steferny and Raychel and Grayam are here to. This is the adress and fone number." He had printed the address carefully in capital letters and the phone number beneath it. "I hope to see you soon. Arthur."

I grinned as I read it again. His spelling was worse than mine. He wrote things as they sounded. I pictured him with the paper and a pen, laboriously writing the note to me, and I laughed in delight. Then I went out to look for a public phone. I had a few coins in my pocket to make a call.

The first phone I found in the street had been vandalised, with its mouthpiece smashed and the cord severed. I discovered another outside a diner which was okay, and I dialled the number and fed a quarter into the slot. After four or five rings, a woman answered.

"Hello. I'm calling for Arthur Fleck. May I speak with him?" I asked.

"Who is this?"

"Travis Bickle. I'm his friend."

"Hold on, please."

I heard a clunk as the phone was put down on something, then silence. My phone began to beep as my quarter ran out, and I shoved two more in. Several minutes passed before I finally heard someone pick up the phone at the other end, and Arthur spoke.

"Hello? Travis?"

"Arthur! How are you?"

"I'm okay."

"How's your new place?"

"It's better than the shelter, and better than Arkham."

"Your note said you have your own room?"

"Yes. There's no lock on the door either. There are cameras in all the rooms so they can see what we're doing, but we can move around the house when we want. I have a private bathroom. Well, it just has a toilet and a sink. The showers are on another floor."

"That's great! I hope Rachel and Stephanie are leaving you alone," I joked.

"They know I'm gay. Rachel keeps bothering Graham, but he seems pretty happy about that. Did they help you find a job?"

"Yes. I'm driving a cab. It was easier than I thought. There's a company that helps people like us get started. They gave me my own car. I just have to pay for it out of the money I earn."

"I'm so happy for you." Arthur cleared his throat. "I miss you, Travis."

"I miss you, too. When can you have visitors?"

"Any time. You just have to ring the bell and wait for them to let you in. They ask a couple of questions and you have to sign a book, then sign again when you leave."

"I could come this afternoon," I said at once, my pulse quickening. I couldn't wait to see him, and check he was okay with my own eyes.

"Aren't you driving your cab?"

"No. I started this morning, but it's slow during the day. I always used to work at night in New York, so I'm going to try that later. I'll start about six o'clock."

"All right. I'll see you later, then." He paused and I heard him breathing. Then in a low voice he added, "I can't wait to kiss you."

"Me too." I chuckled. "See you soon, Arthur."

There was a map of the city in my cab, and I collected this before I went back up to my room. I found the street where Arthur's home was on the map and decided I would have to drive there. It was over on the other side of the city in the suburbs and would take a couple of hours to walk to. I didn't have spare money for the subway, and I didn't want to spend any of my meagre earnings just yet.

If I'd thought the previous day that the night had crawled by, it had been nothing to waiting for the next couple of hours to pass until I could see Arthur. I took another tepid shower and scrubbed myself from head to foot, then put on the best shirt I had in the poor collections of clothes I'd gathered. It was blue with darker blue dots in the fabric. Other than the cuffs and the collar being slightly worn, it was decent. I paired it with dark grey pants, and the thin tan jacket with a hood I'd been given at the shelter.

I parked outside the home just after two thirty. It had its own parking area which contained a few cars, but there were spaces. I rang the bell as instructed and a minute later a young woman opened it.  
"Yes, can I help you?"

I recognised her voice from the phone. "I'm visiting Arthur Fleck. I called earlier. Travis Bickle."

"Oh, yes. He said you'd be coming to see him. Come in, please." She smiled a little.

I walked into a small lobby and waited while she locked the door. "I need you to sign the guest book." She directed me to a desk with a book and several pens. "You're Arthur's friend; is that right?"

"Yes. We were in Arkham together. He said visiting here is okay any time?"

"So long as it's not in the middle of the night." She laughed. "It's good for the residents to have visitors and mingle with people who have some semblance of normality in their lives."

"Good. You'll be seeing a lot of me, then. What's your name?" I straightened up from signing the book.

"Charlotte. I'm usually here in the mornings and afternoons. Arthur's in his room. I'll show you where that is." She led me up a flight of stairs to a corridor with several numbered doors, all closed. We stopped outside number six. Charlotte knocked, then stepped away. "I'll leave you to it. Remember you'll need to sign the book again and enter the time you leave."

"Thank you, Charlotte." I waited, heart pounding, until Arthur opened the door a moment later.

"Travis!" His face brightened immediately, and he smiled. "You came."

"Of course I came." I looked him up and down, taking in clothes similar to those I'd been given—hand me down cream shirt, blue pants, and a red sleeveless sweater.

"Come in." He moved out of the way to let me into the room. It was small with a narrow bunk, a chest of drawers and wardrobe, and a desk and chair. A closed door indicated the bathroom he'd mentioned. I pushed the door closed behind me and looked around a little more. On the desk was a notebook and a couple of pens, and a worn paperback.

"What are you reading?"

"Watership Down. It's not the sort of thing I like to read, but it passes the time. There's a small library downstairs we can take books from."

"What do you like to read?" I realised then I didn't know much about his likes and dislikes. All our time spent together so far had been in Arkham or in the shelter, talking about our pasts and our struggles. He liked a decent roast beef dinner, and he liked dancing, but beyond that, I had a lot to learn.

"Ernest Hemingway. The Old Man and the Sea is my favourite. Do you want to sit down?" He hovered between the bed and the desk, seeming unsure.

"Sit with me." I grasped his hand and sat on the edge of the bed.

He relaxed at once and smiled again. "So, tell me what it's like on the outside. I want to know everything; even about your crappy room."

"It's not very exciting. The shower is tepid and comes out in a dribble. I have a sofa that unfolds into a bed. As soon as I have some spare cash, I'm going to get a TV. There's nothing to do. I've hung out with Brian a bit. He was anxious to start with, because of me being into guys. I told him I only have eyes for you."

Arthur giggled and flushed. "What else? How was your interview?"

I talked more than I had in a long time. Arthur was interested in every detail, however mundane, and prompted me with questions when I thought I'd said everything there was to say.

"It's your turn," I said eventually. "How are you getting on? Charlotte seems nice."

"She's lovely. Better than Angela." He made a face. "I saw Dr Marks yesterday. We went over the whole story about Murray Franklin again. They say I'm doing better. I wrote it all out in my journal, too. It took me a whole day. I hope you understood my note. My spelling's not so good."

"We talked about this before. Mine's not much better. I didn't like school," I remembered. "I was always in trouble for not paying attention and not doing my homework."

Arthur grinned again, then his smile disappeared, and his expression turned serious. He licked his lips, eyes darting around as if he were nervous. "So, um, Travis, are you gonna kiss me, then?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get steamy in Arthur's bathroom

"What about the camera?" I restrained myself from glancing up into the corner of the room.

"They're not monitored. Someone checks them from time to time, but mostly they're just recorded. If something happens, they can check the tapes. This isn't Arkham. They only worry if any of us seem likely to hurt ourselves, or somebody else. Rachel asked Charlotte about it, because she wanted to find out if she could get away with having a man in her room."

"Okay." I wasn't convinced, but I couldn't stop myself leaning closer to bring our lips together. The few brief moments we'd had together in Arkham seemed a long time ago. There had been no privacy in the shelter, and I longed to kiss him and feel his hands on me. The moment our tongues met my dick stiffened, and Arthur's groan told me he was becoming as aroused as I was. I tried to forget about the camera as I closed my eyes and slid my arms around him. It was just him and me, alone in a bedroom.

My imagination hurried things along, and I pictured us lying on the bed together naked, kissing, stroking, rubbing against each other. I broke the kiss with a gasp as Arthur stroked me through my pants, his hand quick and firm, making my balls pull up.

"Shit, stop," I breathed, and covered his hand with mine to still the movement. I came back to reality, convinced someone was watching us and either planning to burst in and stop us, or worse, watching with glee like they had their own personal porn show.

"You don't want to?" He sounded disappointed. "It feels like you do."

"What if someone's watching? I don't want to give them a show."

"We could go in the bathroom." Arthur grinned shyly and pulled out of my arms.

I got up. If the camera were being monitored it would be obvious what we were going into the bathroom for, but I didn't give a shit about that. I just didn't want some stranger looking at my dick in Arthur's hand.

I closed the door behind us and shrugged off my jacket. Arthur stepped close again and kissed me while he unfastened my shirt. My breath caught in my throat as he ran his hands over my chest and stomach, then stopped kissing me to press his lips to my neck. I leaned back against the door and let him do what he wanted. He'd never had the opportunity before, and I'd never been able to enjoy this much attention either.

He paused to take off his sweater and unbutton his shirt. I opened my eyes to watch as he uncovered pale skin stretched over his bony frame. He had a sprinkling of chest hair and small light brown nipples. He unfastened his pants too, before he realised I was watching.

"Don't look." He laughed harshly. "I'm not very sexy."

"You are to me." I pulled him closer, but he broke away and tugged his hands through his hair. Another laugh burst from him. "Arthur."

"S-sorry."

"Arthur, look at me."

He stood still and met my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm nervous."

"Don't be. We're not doing anything we didn't do before under the tree at Arkham. We'll just have less clothes on, that's all."

"Yeah. Okay. Take yours off." He took a few deep breaths and dropped his shirt on the floor.

I finished removing my shirt, toed off my shoes, and unzipped my pants. I let them drop to my ankles, leaving me covered only by a pair of cheap Walmart boxers in blue and white stripes. "You want "not very sexy?" Shop at Walmart," I joked.

Arthur laughed, no longer with anxiety, and shoved his pants down. Underneath, he wore white briefs of the type I'd been provided with by the shelter. I stepped out of the bunch of pants around my ankles and reached for Arthur again. This time he pressed himself against me and tucked his face into my neck. I stroked my hands over his back, feeling every bone through his soft warm skin. He pulled his head back again to kiss me, and eagerly thrust his tongue into my mouth. My erection throbbed, and Arthur's hardened, nudging my thigh. He rolled his hips and rubbed himself against me, giving us both some friction. I slid my hands lower and cupped his arse. There wasn't a lot of flesh there, but I squeezed and stroked, and slipped my fingers into his underwear. He stopped kissing me, gasping for breath.

"You want me to stop?" I offered.

"No." He took his weight off me and pushed my boxers down to free my dick. "God, Travis, I need to come."

I groaned. "Me too. It's been too long." I lowered his underwear and his erection bounced free. I wrapped my hand around it and rubbed my thumb over the tip.

He whimpered and bit his lip. "I'm gonna last about five seconds." He grasped my dick and stroked, while I stroked him. The backs of our hands bumped against each other, and precome oozed from us both. I thought about tasting him and wondered what that would be like. I'd never sucked dick, although I'd been curious. But maybe Arthur wouldn't want that. After what happened to him it wasn't something he would ever do, and perhaps he wouldn't want it doing to him either. I wasn't about to ruin the moment, but we should probably talk about what we wanted at some point in the future. I quickened my pace, and Arthur's erection throbbed in my hand.

"I want to have sex," he blurted. Apparently, he was thinking about the same things I was. "Not here. When I get out of here. I mean I want to—" His voice shook, and he groaned. "I want you to fuck me. Fuck!" He came, spurting onto his lightly furred concave belly and my hand. It was enough to push me over the edge.

I closed my eyes as I finished, and Arthur continued stroking until he'd squeezed out the last drop. Then he slumped against me with a groan. I slid my arms around him, and we rested against each other, catching our breath.

"Travis. What I said, I was just thinking about it when I was coming. If you don't want that, it's okay."

"I do want that. I was thinking about it, too. I was thinking about things we might do when we have as much time as we want to try stuff."

"Good. I hope I can get out of here soon. I didn't care much before I met you. It was safe in Arkham. Now I do care. I want to be normal again, or as normal as I can be."

"Keep telling them what they want to hear like I did," I reminded him. "Try not to let things upset you. If something bothers you, think about getting out and being with me instead."

"I have to see Dr Marks again tomorrow. I'm supposed to start by talking about those kids attacking me, and then the guys on the subway. I'm going to write everything in my journal first, just like I told you. The subway guys, Sophie, Randall, Penny, and Murray Franklin. And about me trying to kill myself after I killed Penny." He chuckled. "I guess I spoiled the mood now."

"No, you didn't. You're just thinking about getting out of here. We should get cleaned up."

He laughed some more and peeled himself off me. "My shower isn't very big, but we can probably squeeze in there together if you want to."

"Is it hot?"

"Yes."

"Then it's better than mine."

We squeezed into the small cubicle together, which didn't give us much room to move about and wash ourselves, but the shower was hot and powerful, and simply standing still under it was pleasurable. Eventually, Arthur reached for the shower gel hanging on a hook below the showerhead and began washing me.

"Is this okay?" He ran his hands over my chest, working up a lather.

"It's more than okay." I hummed with pleasure as he washed every inch of my chest, stomach, and shoulders. His body brushed against mine in the tiny space, and coupled with his soapy hands on me, it made my dick swell again. Arthur spent more time pretending to wash it than he did on the rest of my body and I when I came for the second time, my legs grew weak. When I recovered, I took the shower gel from Arthur. "You want me to do you?"

"Oh, um, okay."

I started with his shoulders and worked my way down each arm, then moved to his chest. Lathering up the shower gel, I massaged his soft pecs in slow circles, then continued down to his stomach. He closed his eyes and rolled his head back until it rested against the wall. He was about half hard when I got to his thighs, then reached around him to wash his arse. I ran soapy fingers along the crack and dipped in to find his hole. His dick jumped and he groaned.

"Ohhhh, that feels good." He spread his legs a little. "Keep doing that."

I rubbed my finger back and forth across his hole, then circled it, while I wrapped my other hand around his erection and stroked slowly. He squirmed and shivered, fists clenched at his sides.

"You ever touch yourself here, Arthur?"

"Yeah. Sometimes."

Carefully, I pressed the tip of finger into him. "How about like this?"

"Yes," he gasped. He lifted his hands to my shoulders and held on tight. "More. Please."

I slid my finger deeper into his tight heat. The feel of him would have made me hard again in a second if I hadn't just come twice in quick succession. I jerked him harder as I curled my finger inside him. Arthur bucked his hips, pushing himself into my fist and then grinding himself onto my finger. I grinned as he came again with a deep groan, then slumped against me as if his knees had gone weak like mine did. I took my hands off him and slid my arms around him instead.

"You okay?"

"Yes. God, I can't wait to get out of here. I want you so much," he sighed.

"I know. Me too." I let the rapidly cooling water rinse us again, then turned it off. "You got towels?"

"Yes." He opened the door and grabbed two rough towels from a rail. We slipped out of the cubicle and dried ourselves, then got dressed. Arthur opened the bathroom door and we returned to his bedroom. "Have you got any cigarettes?" he asked.

"Sure." I took the pack and a lighter out of my jacket pocket.

Arthur opened the sash window. There were bars on the outside to stop people jumping out or escaping, but as the window opened upwards, we could at least get fresh air. I lit two cigarettes and we stood at the opening, blowing the smoke outside. A little drifted back into the room, but there was no smoke alarm in the room.

When we finished the cigarettes, we sat on the bed for a while and talked. Mostly, Arthur recounted aspects of his stories that he'd told me before. He told me about the three guys in the train again, and this time he didn't seem upset by it. He recited what actually happened, and then told me how he imagined a different story—shooting them, then running away and dancing in a public bathroom.

"I did dance," he added. "Of course, I was in my apartment thinking about what happened. I didn't run home. I limped. I was bruised and battered. My nose was bleeding. I imagined this other scenario where I punished them and then I danced in the room. It was a small room with a lot of things in it—the couch I slept on, a table, cupboards and shelves and the TV and a video recorder. I danced and I felt better. I had pushed the memory of what really happened out of my head."

I nodded. "I get it. Someday, we can dance together like we talked about before."

Arthur smiled. "I don't even mind if there's nowhere to go out and we have to stay at your place or mine. When I get out of here, I'll be happy to dance with you anywhere."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a bad day. Life continues for a few weeks, but then Arthur gives Travis some surprising news.

When I left, I promised to visit Arthur again in two days' time. I went back to my apartment, got something to eat, then later set out in my taxi again. While I drove up and down or hung around outside clubs and bars waiting for passengers, I thought about Arthur, and the night passed quickly in between working and dreaming about him getting out of the home.

I clocked off around five in the morning, exhausted, and went home to take my pills and get some sleep. For once I slept like the dead, sprawled on my fold-out bed with all my clothes and boots still on. When I opened my eyes, I didn't know what day or time it was, or even where I was. My mind was fuzzy from sleep, and I needed food and smokes, not necessarily in that order.

I pulled out my cigarettes and lit one without getting up, then realised I needed a piss, too. I carried on smoking while I took care of that, then made myself coffee, and some cheese sandwiches, made from cheap sliced bread and plastic cheese. The little slices of cheese in their clear film wraps reminded me of a time long ago in New York when I'd first tried them melted over apple pie in a diner. I'd ordered pie and coffee and asked for cream to go with the pie. It was the middle of the night when the twenty-four-hour diner was empty and awaiting delivery of supplies.

* * * * * * * * * 

"I'm sorry, Travis, we're out of cream," Marnie, the waitress said. She knew my name—all the waitresses did. I was in there practically every night when I needed a caffeine hit.

"Okay." I thought for a moment. "Can you melt a slice of cheese over it?"

"Cheese?" Her eyebrows rose.

"Yeah. Why not?"

"You like that?"

I shrugged. "Don't know, but it's worth a try, right?"

"Well, you know you still have to pay for it, sweetie, even if you don't eat it."

I grinned and pulled out my money. "I'll pay now if it makes you feel any better."

"Put it away, Travis. Knowing you, you'll want three or four more coffee refills before you're done."

* * * * * * * * * 

I smiled at the memory. It was one of the few good ones I had of New York, before everything went to hell.

I took a shower and put on some clean clothes, then counted out my money and stashed it in a metal box under the bed. I had almost fifty dollars so far, and I'd filled up the car again out of the night's takings. I shouldn't have any trouble making the first payment on the car if things continued like this, but I was still reluctant to spend much of the money in the meantime.

Before I started work again that evening, I bought some extra groceries and more cigarettes, including a couple of spare packs and a lighter that I planned to give Arthur, and I parted with a few extra dollars for a cheap alarm clock. The next afternoon I was to visit him again, and I didn't want to sleep all day and miss the chance.

That night as I waited for fares, I thought more about our situation. Would they really let him out? He'd seemed so completely screwed up and crazy when I met him, which had only been a few short weeks ago. Or was it months? I wasn't great at keeping track of things either. It hadn't been a long time, anyhow. It seemed only yesterday that Brian and Ray and I had been transported to Arkham. Now Ray was gone, and Brian and I were out fending for ourselves.

In a few hours I would see Arthur and find out how his appointment with Dr Marks went. I grinned as I thought about seeing him, and my heart quickened its pace. I hadn't felt like this about anyone before. I'd convinced myself at one time that Betsy was "the one" and that I only had to make her see it, but it had merely been infatuation. Nothing had happened between us. I hadn't even kissed her. Arthur was my first proper relationship, even though it was unconventional. We'd talked and kissed and touched, had meals together and gone for walks—all in the crazy house. What would it be like doing those things with him on the outside? Proper dates; freedom; sex without the worry of being caught.

"Stop it," I muttered as my dick stirred. I was in my cab outside a bar. The last thing I wanted was a hard-on with hours to go and no relief at hand. I snorted. "At hand" was right. My hand had been getting quite the workout lately.

When I finished working, I went home, ate, and took my pills. Exhaustion knocked me out again for a few hours, but I woke in the middle of the day without needing the alarm. My first thought was that Arthur would be expecting me soon, and I threw myself out of bed enthusiastically. Within an hour, I was on my way across town. Emotions I wasn't used to filled me—anticipation, excitement, slight fear. Why this last one? Perhaps because I still worried things would go wrong—that he wouldn't get better and they wouldn't let him out. Not for me, but for him. I knew how he longed to be free, now he'd been able to separate fantasy from reality, and realise there could be something out here for him.

I parked outside the home in the same place I had before and rang the bell. A different member of staff let me in and made me sign the book. Arthur was in his room and I made my way up there and knocked. He didn't answer and I tried again. I heard slow footsteps approaching the door, then a pause before it opened.

"Arthur. You okay?" My smile slid into a frown as I took in his haunted eyes and trembling mouth.

He nodded, trying to force his lips to smile, but they couldn't manage it. I slipped into the room and closed the door. He didn't hug me but moved away and sat on the edge of the bed. I wondered if something awful had happened—perhaps his meeting with Dr Marks upset him. Alternatively, it could be his usual depression pulling him down. He suffered a lot worse than me in that respect. I sat beside him and pulled the cigarettes and lighter out of my pocket.

"I brought these for you." I placed them in his hands.

"Thank you, Travis." He opened one of the packs and lit a cigarette. "Sorry, do you want one?" He offered them to me as an afterthought.

"No, I'm good. Is it a bad day?"

"I guess." He drew hard on the cigarette, tipped his head back, and blew the smoke out of his nose. I got up quickly and opened the window.

"Do you stay in here all the time?"

"No. I go to the dining room. There's a games room like there was at Arkham, but I prefer to stay here and read. I don't know anyone."

"You know Stephanie."

He shrugged. "She's always in her room, too."

"Ahh." I grinned.

"You can ask about it. My meeting." He glanced at me.

"I didn't know if you'd want to talk about it."

"If you ask me something and I don't want to talk about it, I'll say, "I don't want to talk about it." I'm okay, Travis. I wish they'd give me better medication, though. I feel bad all the time. Better than I used to, but still bad."

"I'm sorry. So, how was it with Dr Marks?"

"I talked about everything. All the things I did and the things I thought I did. I don't think I told you the last part, about what happened after I shot Murray Franklin on live TV. Well, you know what I mean. In my head. I'll tell you about it some other time. I'm all talked out."

"It was okay, though? What did Dr Marks say?"

"Not much. I don't know if they believe that I know it was all in my head, or if they think I'm just saying that so I can get out. I got upset a couple of times. I laughed so much I threw up."

"I'm sorry," I repeated. I reached for his hand. Initially, he withdrew, but after a moment he slid his hand into mine and laced our fingers together. Any thoughts I'd had of a repeat performance in the bathroom went out of my head, and my excitement diminished. He wasn't in the mood. I should have known that. Yesterday had been a big day. I'd known what he was planning to do, and rehashing all of that stuff in his head with the doc had to have been harder than telling me little bits of it at a time.

"I'm okay, Travis," he said again. "Tell me about what you've been doing."

"I've been working all night, both nights since I last saw you. I got plenty of fares. I think I'm doing well enough to make the payments on the car and buy the stuff I need. Do you remember in Arkham when I had cheese and pie and you tried it? I was thinking about that. The first time I had that was in my favourite diner in New York. I'd like to take you out for pie when you get out of here."

Arthur smiled a little. "I liked pie with cheese. Won't the waitress in the diner think we're weird?"

"Maybe, but that's their problem."

"Okay. Dr Marks didn't say anything about whether I'm getting better or not. That's no different from any other meeting I've had, though. Dr Kane was the same. They just make notes and ask questions. I don't find out until the next time what they think about what I said. They have to analyse the results of the meeting. It was exhausting this time." He continued talking about it, even though he'd said he didn't want to. I assumed he felt comfortable with me and wanted to share it after all. I just held his hand and listened. Eventually, he relaxed and talked about other things, but he didn't smile.

I stayed until it was time for Arthur to join the others for dinner. When I left, I gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He held onto me for a long moment.

"I'm sorry I'm not very good company today."

"It doesn't matter. You don't have to try to be any different for me. I have days like this, too, sometimes weeks of it, so I know how it is. I care about you, Arthur. You know that, right?"

"I like to think you do. Then sometimes I wonder why you bother with me. I will never be normal."

"Nobody's normal. I'm certainly not. We're all different. I like you as you are, okay? I like you a lot. A real lot."

"I like you, too," he whispered. "Thank you, Travis. Thank you for not forgetting about me."

"That's never gonna happen." I shot him a grin. "When I'm not here, I'm always thinking about you. Remember that."

"Will you come see me tomorrow?"

"Sure, of course I will. It might be a little later. I should probably try to sleep until two."

"That's all right. If I only get to see you for five minutes, it will be worth it. I'll be better tomorrow."

Arthur wasn't better the next day, but he did manage to smile once or twice. The day after that he had another appointment with Dr Marks, and I had to go to the hospital for my own meeting. We didn't see each other that day, but the next afternoon he was more cheerful.

It went like that over the next few weeks. Sometimes he was so down he could barely talk; other times he was so eager to see me, he'd yank the door open the moment I knocked, and we'd spend most of our time together in his bathroom, jerking each other off and showering together. I had my own bad days, and occasionally it was too hard for me to go to see him. I always called, just to say, "I'm thinking about you, but I can't talk today," and he got it. Having someone who knew exactly how it felt was something I'd never had either.

I got into a routine with my taxi, and found I could easily make the payments required, leaving myself as much as a couple of hundred dollars a week spare on some occasions. I bought myself a couple of nicer shirts and a jacket, and a pair of cowboy boots. I'd always had cowboy boots in New York, and I never knew what happened to my old pair.

I bought gifts for Arthur, too. I always took him cigarettes, and once I took a shop bought apple pie and some cheese, and we ate it in his room. It wasn't so good with the cheese unmelted, but it was still tasty. One time I bought a shirt for Arthur—a green one with a pattern in the fabric. He liked green. When I gave it to him, he told me it was exactly like one he dreamed he had. He'd seen it in a store window and imagined he walked in and bought it, then wore it on the Murray Franklin show. He put on the one I gave him right away, and the colour made his green eyes turn the colour of moss.

"You shouldn't keep buying me things," he said later, as much as he loved the shirt. "I can't give you gifts, and I feel guilty."

"You give me a gift every time you smile at me," I replied, aware that I sounded as corny as a chick flick.

And then, one day he gave me a gift I wondered if I would ever get. I'd stopped thinking about it too much, because I didn't want to hope and be disappointed. The doctors were pleased with his progress, he told me, but he didn't seem to think things would change any time soon. I arrived to see him as usual and found him wearing the green shirt and a pair of black pants.

"You look nice." I smiled, and he moved close to give me an enthusiastic kiss in greeting.

"I feel nice. We're going out. Come on." He grabbed a jacket and ushered me out of his room again.

"Out? You mean in the yard?"

"No, in town. I went out yesterday with Stephanie for a practise. I didn't tell you on the phone; I wanted to surprise you." He paused in the lobby to let Charlotte know we were on the way out, then led me out of the building. "I'm getting better. I'm getting out."


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Travis enjoy their first date on the outside

"What do you mean, getting out?" I gazed around the parking area. "Days out?"

"No, out for good. In a month. So long as I get on okay doing this—shopping; going to the park; whatever. Doing normal stuff, I guess. Things are straight in my head now. Every time I've seen Dr Marks since that first time when I got really upset, I've said the same thing. Sometimes in different ways, but always the same. I know what's real and what isn't now. I don't have to pretend anymore. When things have really upset me or people have hurt me, I've imagined things to be different than they are, because I hate feeling like such a weak failure. But that won't happen anymore. I can talk about it. When I get out, I'm going to start seeing Dr Kane again. You remember she left Arkham and its institutions and went to social care. They're going to assign her to me as my social worker. I'll have to see her every week, but if I have a bad day or something happens, I can call her any time."

"That's good. You can talk to me, too," I reminded him. "Any time you want."

"I know." He smiled. "This is all because of you, Travis. You helped me so much. You helped me talk without judging me."

I took his hand and squeezed it. We were still in the yard by the building and no one was around.

"I didn't tell you the last part of the story," he said then. "I've talked about it so many times now, it almost seems silly. But I need to tell you this last part."

"Shall we sit down over there?" I indicated a bench.

"Okay." Still holding my hand, Arthur led me to the bench and sat. "So, I told you I shot Murray Franklin. It sounds crazy, doesn't it?" He laughed—a normal, amused chuckle. "After that, the police grabbed me and put me in a cop car. I was handcuffed when we left the studio, but then I wasn't cuffed in the car. We were driving through the city and there were riots everywhere. Cars were burning; people were letting off fireworks and throwing flares; smashing stuff up. There was a huge demonstration. Everyone was wearing clown masks. I was laughing. I thought it was amazing. I thought they were all doing it for me. Then the car crashed."

"The cop car?"

"Yes. I was knocked out, so I don't remember how it happened. Another vehicle ran into it. Some people got me out of the car, and I woke up laid out on the hood. My head was bleeding. There were crowds all around me chanting for me to get up. Everything hurt, like I'd been run over by a truck, but it sort of faded. I got up and stood on the car and they all cheered. I danced." He stood up suddenly and held his arms out, one at right angles to his body, and the other pointing up a little. He turned around slowly. "I felt like a big star. They were all cheering and chanting. My mouth was full of blood, and I put my fingers in my mouth, and painted a big red clown smile on my face with the blood." He stuck his fingers in the corners of his mouth and pulled them out and up onto his cheeks. Then he sat down beside me again. "That's pretty much it. I don't remember anything else. I woke up in Arkham. I know none of this happened. It was my mind trying to make me feel better about things. I'll never be much. I'm always gonna be the one people bully and pick on, because of my head injury that makes me laugh the way I do. I'm always gonna be the freak who killed his mother. But that's all I did. I can accept it."

"You're amazing, you know that?" I took his hand again. "You sound so different."

"I've had a lot of practise now, talking about this shit." He tugged his hand free of mine and took out his cigarettes. "You want one?"

"Yeah, thanks."

A moment later, we were both smoking. Arthur got up again. "Let's go into town."

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"I want to walk in the park and get ice cream. I want to ride in your cab. I want to go to a diner and have apple pie with cheese." He paused. "I'm sorry. What do you want to do?"

"That all sounds good to me." I turned and indicated my cab. "It's a couple of miles to the park from here. Why don't we drive there? Then we can tick off riding in the cab first."

Arthur grinned. "Can I pay my fare with a kiss? I don't have much money."

"That sounds good."

Arthur rode up front with me and gazed about him like an excited kid as I drove. "It's weird that it's only about two and a half years since I rode in a car, but it seems so much longer. I've been on the bus, of course, but that doesn't count. I never enjoyed a car ride this much."

"I never enjoyed driving this much either." I grinned as I turned down the street that led to the park. "This is a short ride, but when you get out of the home, we can go anywhere you like. Maybe take a drive out of the city."

"I'd like that."

A few minutes later, we walked into the park and strolled along the side of the lake. Arthur looked at everything in fascination—the swans on the water; a young woman pushing a stroller; two boys playing with a dog; a group of young adults sitting on the grass with a picnic. Everything he saw made him smile and his eyes sparkle, and his obvious enjoyment made it impossible for me to wipe the smile off my face. My heart swelled as I looked at him, and it made me wish things were different in one way. I wished I could hold his hand as we walked, without worrying about people seeing us and throwing insults. We passed a young man and a girl holding hands, walking close together and whispering to each other, and I imagined how good it would be if I could do that with Arthur.

We came to a kiosk selling drinks, snacks, and souvenirs. Who would want souvenirs of Gotham, I couldn't imagine, but I noticed a shelf of disposable cameras, and picked one up. We could take pictures from our first date on the outside. I bought one, along with two cones filled with soft whipped vanilla ice cream. I took the first photo of Arthur standing under a tree holding his ice cream, with a shy trembling smile on this lips.

"I don't think I've ever been photographed," he said. "I won't make a very good picture."

"You need some practise. No one will see them except me."

"Then you have to be photographed, too. I want a picture of you for my room. Show me how it works."

A few minutes later, he took a picture of me standing by the lake. We used up the rest of the film taking photos of the water, the trees, the swans, and each other. I got one of Arthur smoking a cigarette, his head tipped back as he blew smoke up at the sky. I liked that one and thought I'd put it in a frame. Before we left the park, I handed the camera back to the kiosk for developing. I would collect the pictures the next week.

"What next?" I asked as we returned to the cab. "You still want to get apple pie and cheese?"

"I'd love that. Maybe we should have saved some photos to take at the diner."

"We can do that another time. I can get a proper camera to keep, that you just buy films for. We can take lots of photos."

I drove us back to my favourite diner and parked in the street nearby. "This is like the one I used to go to in New York," I told Arthur as we took a table. "Same colour scheme and everything."

"What can I get you boys?" A waitress appeared with a jug of coffee.

"May I have coffee, please?" Arthur said politely.

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

"Me, too," I added. "And two portions of apple pie with cheese, thanks."

The waitress giggled. "You and your pie and cheese. Honestly, Travis, one of these days I'll be trying that myself." She poured out our coffees and headed back to the counter to fetch the pie.

"You come in here a lot?" Arthur grinned.

"Enough that they all know my name and what I like." I glanced at my watch.

"Am I keeping you?" Arthur's smile wavered.

"No, I was just wondering how long you have to spend with me."

"As long as I get back for dinner, it's fine. Otherwise they'll probably send a search party." He sipped his coffee. "This is much better than in the home. I think they keep a jug brewing all day there. By dinner, it's so bitter you can't drink it."

"The coffee here is great," I agreed. "So, what do you want to do after this?"

"I want to—" He broke off as the plates of apple pie arrived. When the waitress left us, he leaned across the table and lowered his voice. "I want to see your apartment. Is that okay?"

"Sure. It's not much. Just a room, really."

"But it's yours." He grinned. "And I don't suppose there are cameras."

"No." My pulse quickened, and I immediately pictured us naked in my bed. "I'd love to show you my place."

Thirty minutes later, I unlocked my door and showed Arthur in. I kept things tidy, so I didn't have to worry about a mess, but the carpet was threadbare and the furniture shabby. It wasn't much, like I'd told Arthur. I would have been ashamed to show him it, if it wasn't for the fact that all he'd seen in the last two and a half years was the inside of an asylum, or of course, the care home.

"This is nice." He stood in the middle of the small room and looked around.

"It's not really."

"It is. It's your own space. You can do what you want, and no one will see." He glanced at the couch. "Don't you have a bed?"

"The couch is a bed. It opens up into a double."

"Oh." He smiled and flushed. "Are you going to show me?"

"Uh, yeah." I opened out the couch with slightly shaky hands and put the cushions in place for pillows. I unfolded the sheet and spread it out on the mattress, then placed the blanket on top. My heart raced, and my dick stiffened when Arthur's shirt landed on the floor beside the bed. I glanced around to find him unfastening his pants. He didn't look at me, and the colour in his face deepened, but he carried on until he had stripped down to his plain white underwear. He wasn't hard, and he looked nervous and awkward. "Hey." I lifted the edge of the blanket. "Wanna lie down?"

"Yes." He slid under the blanket and pulled it around him, immediately seeming more comfortable.

I unfastened my shirt. By the time I got down to my underwear, my arousal was obvious, tenting the front of my boxers. I shoved at it with the heel of my hand and laughed. Arthur smiled, and lifted the blanket again to invite me to join him. The situation seemed kind of weird. If anything was going to happen, I would have expected us to start kissing, fumbling with each other's clothes, and eventually prising ourselves apart to drag the bed open. But we prepared everything like the plan was to have sex, and now Arthur lay flat on his back, tense and unsure.

I propped my head up on my hand and leaned closer to kiss his cheek. "You okay?"

"Yes!"

"Arthur, relax. We're only gonna do something if you want to."

"I do want to. It's just different. I've never really been alone with anyone like this. I've imagined it, and I suppose in my bathroom at the home we're technically alone. This seems different, though. Do you want to fuck me?" He turned his head to meet my eyes.

"Yeah, I do. But not today." I swallowed. I'd thought about that a lot, but the prospect of actually doing it scared me. What if I messed up? What if I hurt him? What if he hated it? "Why don't we just do what we always do? I love the feel of your hands on me."

He smiled. "I love that, too. You can touch me. You know, down there. I showered before you came to meet me."

"I have lube." I reached for the bottle I kept down the side of the couch. I placed it on the ledge beside the bed within reach, then drew him closer to me. He rolled onto his side and slid his arms around me. His half-hard dick brushed mine.

"I love you, Travis," he said softly.

"I love you, too." I didn't think about it. The words fell off my tongue, and I guessed they were true. I'd never felt like this about anyone and hearing them from him made my heart swell.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexy fun for Travis and Arthur, and plans for the future

I closed the small gap between our lips and kissed him, warm and gentle. My heart pounded and my dick ached. I wanted to dive right in with my tongue and pin him to the bed, but I kept it slow and teasing, until he took over and deepened things. His tongue slid over mine and he pressed my lips against my teeth. His erection grew, rubbing against mine through two sets of underwear. I groaned in both pleasure and frustration, longing to feel skin on skin. Arthur clearly wanted the same, as he pried himself off me and reached down to free me from my boxers. I shivered as his hand closed around me and gave me a few quick pumps. Then he pushed his own underwear down and grasped us both together.

I broke the kiss, gasping. "Aw, fuck."

Arthur chuckled. "You like that, Travis?"

"What do you think?" I grabbed the lube. "Use some of this."

Frustratingly, Arthur took his hand off me again, but only long enough to squeeze some lube into his palm. Then he began stroking us with his slickened hand. My eyes rolled up in my head and I lay there, trembling with pleasure as his dick slid against mine, and his hand stroked us, not quite firmly enough to make me come too soon.

"Every night when I'm alone, I think about doing this with you," Arthur whispered. "And other stuff."

"Hell," I groaned, as he tightened his grip a little. "What other stuff?"

"Remember what you did with your finger that time?"

"Uh huh." That wasn't something I would forget in a hurry—the tight heat of him squeezing my finger and me imagining what it would feel like around my dick.

"I think about that. And then—" His breathing hitched, and he loosened his grip again. "You fucking me."

"Jeez." I opened one eye and glanced at his face. His cheeks were flushed, and eyes half-open as he looked down between us, watching our erections sliding through his fist. "You want that now? The first part?"

"Yeah. Wait, though." He let go of himself and tightened his grip around me only. Then he quickened his pace, jerking me rapidly. It didn't take long for me to finish.

I groaned and clenched my fists. "I could have waited."

"But I want all of your attention on me," Arthur murmured.

"It always is." I forced my eyes open. My limbs were boneless and my chest heaving, but I couldn't wait to get my hands on him again. Arthur still lay on his side with his knee propped up. He stroked himself a little while he waited for me. "I like watching you do that."

He laughed a little and stopped touching himself. His laughter continued. He put his hand over his mouth and scrunched his eyes shut.

"Hey, come on. It's okay." I put my hand on his arm. It was so thin, my fingers reached almost all the way around. "It's nothing to get upset about."

"Yeah," he gasped out. He sucked in a breath and a couple of isolated cackles followed. He opened his eyes. "I'm not, uh, upset. I just, um, I, um—" He stopped and concentrated on breathing.

I stroked his arm and gave his bicep a gentle squeeze. "Do you want to stop and just talk for a while?"

"No." He smiled a little. "I'm sorry. I kind of feel like a kid caught doing something wrong."

"Giving yourself a bit of pleasure isn't wrong. It's sexy."

"A lot of the things that happened in my life before now have been about anything to do with sex being wrong. Sometimes it's okay, but other times I remember that, and it makes me think I shouldn't be doing it."

"When it's just you and me, you can do whatever you want. If you want to just do it yourself, it's cool with me. Anything we do with each other isn't wrong, 'cause both of us want it, and I'll always stop if you want me to." I said what I thought might help and wondered where the words came from. I'd never been in this situation, and usually I was hopeless at coming up with the right words at the right time. But it seemed to work with Arthur. He smiled.

"That's why I love you, Travis. You always know the right thing to say when I get all weird and lose myself." He snuggled closer. His softened dick slid against my leg. "I spoiled things, didn't I?"

"You didn't spoil anything. This is good, too." I hugged him tighter. Neither of us moved or spoke for a few minutes as Arthur got himself together again.

"Doesn't this bother you?" he asked eventually.

"What do you mean?"

"Me being, um, me." He pressed his face into my neck and stroked my chest. "You're so good for me. You always say and do the right things, but don't you get fed up that sometimes I get weird and it spoils what we planned to do?"

"No, it doesn't bother me," I said. "I love you for being you. I'm not exactly a normal regular guy either. I spent my life since I got out of the marines popping pills, working every hour so I didn't think too much, not dating, not hanging out with friends because I didn't really have any, just going to see porn movies and planning how I could cleanse the city all by myself. To be honest with you, I think we're a pretty good fit. You don't seem to care about my weirdness, and yours doesn't bother me either. I think that's why it works so well."

Arthur lifted his head and grinned. "You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Saying all the right things." He grasped my hand and drew it down between his legs. I cupped his junk and squeezed gently. Immediately I felt movement. He was over his "weirdness" again and back in the moment.

It didn't take long for Arthur to get fully hard again. I stroked him a little, my hand sliding easily over his flesh which was still slick from the lube. I added more and coated the fingers of my other hand. He lowered his head back to the pillow and closed his eyes.

Gradually, I worked my finger into him while I jerked him off, keeping my grip too slow and loose to make him come too fast. He squirmed and moaned in frustration, limbs trembling and twitching. I added a second finger, gently pressing into his heat and gasping out my own pleasure at the feel of him. My spent dick started to fill again, and I imagined myself above him, pushing it into his body. It might be a long time before that happened. We might even try it one day and he'd decide he didn't want it or like it, but I could still imagine it.

Arthur laughed breathlessly when my erection nudged his raised leg. "You're ready to go again?" He opened his eyes and grinned wickedly, eyes sparkling, all trace of his earlier discomfort gone. "Are you thinking about how it would feel if you put it in me?"

"Fuck," I breathed.

"I'm thinking about that, too." He groaned and closed his eyes again, as I pressed my fingers deeper and brushed his prostate. "When we do it—" Another moan. "I want you to—" He stopped, panting for breath as I jerked him harder. He was almost there. "Come in me!" he cried out, as he shot his load and clenched around my fingers.

"Jesus, Arthur." I took my hands off him and couldn't resist giving myself a quick tug, stroking his fluid onto my flesh. Just as I forced myself to stop, his lashes lifted again.

"Don't stop," he whispered. "Let me watch."

"Kinky." My face warmed a little.

"Go on. It's just me. I want to see how you do it to yourself."

My shaft throbbed in my hand, and I resumed stroking it. Rather than be embarrassed, I only got more turned on with him watching. I watched him watching me, his head tilted down, avidly staring and occasionally licking his lips. Despite having come only a few minutes ago, I didn't think it would take me long to get there again.

When I came, Arthur groaned along with me. Panting, I laughed too. "Shit, that was—" I didn't know what it was. Hot and weird at the same time.

"It was hot," Arthur said. "Now I can think about that, too, when I'm alone tonight. My Travis masturbating."

"Hell." I laughed some more and leaned closer to kiss him. "You could do that for me sometime, too."

He grinned. "I could do that." Slowly, he sat up. "I think I should go soon. I want to stay longer. I'd like to stay the night, but I have to get back. I have a meeting with Dr Marks in the morning, too." He laughed. "Do you think I should talk about what I've been doing?"

"Huh. Maybe not all of it."

"I don't think it would be that believable if I said my boyfriend fucked me with his fingers and I watched him jerk off." He laughed again. "They'd probably keep me locked up for another year."

"Definitely don't tell them." I got up to fetch a towel from the bathroom for a quick clean up. When we were done, we dressed again, and headed out to the cab so I could drive Arthur back to the home. I parked behind the building down a quiet street and took his hand.

"When will I see you again?" he asked.

"When's your meeting tomorrow?"

"Early. Right after breakfast."

"Okay. I could come over later, after I get some sleep. Maybe two o'clock?" I suggested.

"I would love that." He smiled and leaned over to kiss me. "I love you, Travis."

"Love you."

When he got out of the car and walked around the corner of the building, I stayed where I was for a minute, thinking about him. The day had been really good, and I could imagine us together when he got out, able to see each other whenever we wanted. A shiver of excitement ran through me, and I laughed when I caught sight of myself in the rear-view mirror, beaming like a kid at Christmas.

I didn't work so many hours that night. Business was slow, but one of my fares wanted to be taken out of the city a few miles and gave me a generous tip for stopping on the way and waiting ten minutes for him to visit someone before we continued. I made enough money by midnight and headed home.

For once, I slept easily and was well rested and wide awake by eight. I took the opportunity to shop for groceries and another new shirt, and get my sheets and some of my clothes laundered. The rest of the morning crawled by as I waited to go and see Arthur. I went early, but he was already outside sitting on the bench waiting for me.

"Hey!" I walked over, pleased to see a smile on his face. There was always a question as to what mood he would be in when I saw him. Sometimes his meetings with the doctors upset him, but not today.

"Hey, Travis." He got up, glanced around to check for passers-by, and stepped close to give me a quick kiss.

"How did it go today?"

"They found a room for me. I think it's a similar thing to yours. A room in a building somewhere. Grey Street? Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah." A cab driver very quickly learned the name and location of every street. "It's that way." I pointed vaguely in the opposite direction to my place. Grey Street was about as far as you could get from my location and was in a rougher area.

"Oh." His smile slipped, but then he shrugged. "I was hoping I'd be somewhere near you, but at least I'll be out, right?"

"Yeah, that's the most important thing."

"Twenty-four days," Arthur added. "I'm counting them. The meeting with the doc was good, by the way. We talked about what I would do when I get out. There's a food factory that's expanding. They just had a new section built and they're taking on operatives."

"I know the one. It's near where I got my cab from." I nodded.

"I could take a night shift." Arthur smiled. "Then we'd be working at the same time. It would be no good me working during the day and finishing when you start. Night shift pays more, too. I could buy you apple pie and cheese sometime."

"I can't wait." Twenty-four days, I thought. Twenty-four days and I'd have him to myself. I had no doubt there would be challenges and struggles. His issues wouldn't magically go away, but at least he was better than he had been. I was, too. I still took my meds, but I realised that since I left Arkham and subsequently the home, I was better. My depression and anxiety seemed to have taken a step back, and I wouldn't be surprised if having Arthur in my life was responsible for that, the same way he said he was better because of me.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur isn't doing so well out in the real world again

The twenty-four days seemed to pass by slowly at the time, but suddenly I looked at the cheap paper calendar hanging on the wall of my room, and I realised they were gone and it was the day of Arthur's release. We'd seen each other at least every two days up until then and spent a lot of time together at my place. Arthur had told the home that when he left, I would be taking him to his apartment, so they wouldn't need to arrange transport for him.

I didn't work the night before, so I could rest and be up at eight. They were letting him out at nine, after a final short meeting with Dr Marks. I parked outside the building and waited for him to come out, which he did ten minutes after nine. He wore the green shirt I'd bought for him, along with grey pants and a cheap jacket. He held a paper shopping bag in one hand, and he glanced around nervously as he stepped out of the building.

I quickly got out of the cab and waved to him, then went around the other side of the car to open the door for him. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, biting his lip.

"Nervous?"

"Yes."

"I know. I was, too, when they let me out. It'll be okay. You're not alone."

"I'm glad I have you." He forced a smile onto his lips, which trembled there for a moment before it disappeared. Then he slid into the car and placed the bag on the floor between his feet. I closed the door and went around to get in the driver's seat.

"Do you have a key to your new place?" I asked as I started the engine.

"Yes. They gave me some money, too, to get groceries. I have my meds for a week."

"That's good. Do you want to stop and get groceries on the way?"

He nodded. "I think that would be best."

I stopped at a grocery store on the way to Grey Street, and helped Arthur pick out things to make sandwiches, a few cans with ring pulls, oatmeal, coffee, and cigarettes—easy things to prepare to keep him going for a few days. Thirty minutes later, I parked the cab down the block from the rough-looking building where he was to live and walked with him.

"You don't have to come in." He stared up at the dirty grey façade.

"Of course I'm coming in. I want to see you get settled okay, and make sure you have everything you need."

"Thank you." He nodded and didn't look at me as he keyed a number into the keypad beside the main door. The door buzzed and he pushed it open.

"What floor are you on?" I glanced at the elevator, wondering if it even worked. Graffiti covered its door.

"Two."

"Okay. You want to take the stairs?"

Arthur nodded, and we trudged upwards slowly, then pushed through a door into a gloomy corridor. There were eight doors—four on each side. Arthur pulled out a key and stuck it into the lock of Number 3. The room beyond was as gloomy as the corridor, with a small window covered by a dark-coloured drape. I went to push the drape aside to let some light in.

The window looked down on an alley filled with dumpsters, another building just ten feet away across the gap. As light filtered into the room, it revealed a similar arrangement to mine—a couch that looked like it would fold out into a bed, a couple of cupboards with drawers, and a small kitchen counter including a hob, a sink, a little preparation area, and a wall cupboard. Underneath the counter was a tiny refrigerator. I opened the cupboard and discovered plates and mugs for two, a couple of pans and a few utensils. A drawer above the fridge held cutlery. It was all clean, but old.

"It looks okay," I said. I took the grocery bag from Arthur. "Let's put these away." I put cheese, meat, and bread in the refrigerator, then realised it wasn't switched on and flicked the power switch on the wall. It hummed to life.

Arthur stood in the middle of the room, silent and lost, as I put his things away, then took his other bag which held spare clothes, and put them in another cupboard. One of the cupboards was already filled with bedding. A closed door indicated a bathroom, and I checked behind it. Again, like mine—a toilet, tiny sink, and a cramped shower cubicle. Other than some mould around the shower tray, it was clean. I tried the shower and the tap, and they both worked fine.

"It's like mine," I told Arthur as I went back into the other room. "I expect that couch opens out into a bed." I examined it and confirmed that it did. "You okay?"

He nodded silently.

"I can stay for a while."

He shook his head. "I'll be all right, Travis. I need to get used to this. But—" He looked up suddenly and met my eyes, his wide and anxious. "How will I get in touch with you? Neither of us has a phone."

"I thought of that." I smiled and pulled out the slip of paper from my pocket, on which I'd written the phone number for the public phone outside my building. "If you need me, call at seven in the morning. I'll make sure I'm at this phone every day at that time to start with. I saw a public phone outside near where I parked the cab. You can call from there. I'll see you every day, too."

"It's a long way, right across the city."

"Don't matter." I shrugged. "I drive all over the city. Did they sort out your job for you?"

"Yes, but I don't start until next week."

"Then I'll come see you at four in the afternoon each day, before I start work. We can go out to a diner if you want."

Arthur nodded again. "That'd be nice." He was very subdued, and I knew exactly how he felt. Walking into my new home for the first time, I hadn't known what to do with myself. I'd felt lost and more lonely than usual.

"Do you want me to stay for a while?" I offered again.

"I want to be alone." He reached for my hand and gave it a quick squeeze, then let go and put his hands in his pockets. "I need to get used to it. This is so different. It's been such a long time. Longer for you, I know. I'll be okay."

"Sure. Just remember to call me tomorrow at seven if you need anything." I leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I was reluctant to leave him, but he had to do this—to take the first steps alone. I backed towards the door. "Love you."

"I love you, too, Travis."

I thought about Arthur all day. I tried to get some sleep, but it didn't happen, and eventually I gave up and drove back across the city to see him at four o'clock. I didn't think he'd expect me again that day, but I'd promised I'd see him at four every day.

The keypad outside Arthur's building included buzzers, but I remembered the number he'd used to get in, and tapped it in. The door opened and I made my way up to the second floor.

I found Arthur as quiet and nervous as when I'd left him, but he brightened up, surprised to see me back the same day. I didn't stay long, but that night as I drove my cab and waited between fares, he was on my mind constantly. When I finished working, I parked beside the public phone I'd given him the number for, my window down so I could hear it. Rain poured down and I didn't intend to get out until the phone rang, but I waited in vain until seven-twenty before I went back to my apartment. He wasn't going to call.

Arthur never called that first week. I tried to tell myself he was getting along okay, but when I saw him each afternoon, he was quiet and sad, not wanting to talk much, or kiss or touch me. Dark shadows circled his eyes as if he was sleeping less than usual, and he seemed thinner than ever. A quick check in his cupboards when he went to the bathroom told me he'd barely eaten any of the supplies he bought, although a thick haze of smoke hung in the room, and several empty cigarette packets were in the small waste basket beside the couch.

"Have you been back to see the doc yet, or social worker?" I asked him.

"I saw Dr Kane today."

"How did it go?"

He shrugged. "Okay, I guess. She arranged for me to get a new prescription for my medication."

"That's good. You want to go out today? We haven't been back to the diner yet."

He shook his head. "I don't feel like it."

"Not even for apple pie and cheese?"

Another head shake.

"You're not sleeping, are you?"

"I never sleep."

"Or eating."

"I'm fine."

"Arthur, look at me." I touched his shoulder when he avoided my gaze, and eventually he turned his head and met my eyes. "You're not taking care of yourself. I'm worried about you."

"Don't be."

"What's going on? Can't you talk to me?"

He shrugged again, and his gaze slid away from mine. "I haven't much to say."

"Have you been out at all?"

"There's been no reason to go out, except for my appointment."

"You want to go to my place for a while?"

"I'm fine here."

"You're not fine. What's troubling you? You worried about going out?"

"Why would I be? We went out lots of times before I moved here."

"But now you're on your own, without the staff at the home, or anyone you know."

"It's different." He looked down, picking at a rough edge on a fingernail. "It's different to before I went into Arkham. Back then, I looked at things differently. I didn't know what was real and what wasn't. I was in this fantasy world where things were what I made them. Now everything's real and I don't know what to do. It's like I don't matter."

It was the most he'd said to me in a week, and my heart sank. He wasn't coping well at all. "Have you told Dr Kane this?"

"She doesn't really listen. I'm just a number on her schedule. So long as she can tick all the boxes for the day, she doesn't care."

"Well, I care." I grasped his hand, stood up, and tugged him to his feet. "I'm not leaving you here like this. We're going to my place, and we'll eat together and talk. You need to get out of here, even if it's only for a couple of hours."

"You have to go to work."

"I'm ahead of where I need to be this week. I have a cash tin, and I've made more than enough for the next payment on the car, with plenty spare for things I need. I can take a day off." I let go of his hand and grabbed his jacket from where it lay on the arm of the couch. "Put this on."

"But I—" He took the jacket, put paused. "I haven't even had a shower today." He coloured and stared at the floor. "Or yesterday."

"I don't care. You can have one at mine, if you want to. I'm not going without you, Arthur," I said firmly.

He scrubbed a hand over his cheek and laughed a little. "You can do so much better than this. Than me."

"No, I can't. I love you. I want to be with you. Only you. You just need to get used to being out here again. We can do this, together." I took the jacket from him again and held it up so he could slip his arms into it. Then I ushered him to the door. "You got your key?"

He grabbed a key from the kitchen counter, then stopped again. I placed a hand on his back and gently pushed him out into the corridor. "I'm sorry I'm so much trouble."

"You're no trouble. But you need some help. Let's go."

Arthur didn't say a word on the way to my place, sitting silently beside me in the cab. When I parked, he didn't get out until I went around the passenger side and opened the door. Finally, in my room, he took off his jacket and sat on the couch. "Do you have any cigarettes? I haven't any left. I bought some more when I went out to see Dr Kane, but I smoked all those."

"I noticed. Your room had a fog in it." I grinned and pulled out a pack. "Here, help yourself. I'm gonna make us something to eat. Anything you fancy?"

"I'm not very hungry."

"Maybe not, but we're going to eat together. You like roast beef. I've got a couple of dinners. They don't have very good gravy, but they'll do, I guess. And apple pie and cheese after. We don't have to go to the diner; I bought some to have here."

"Okay." Arthur nodded and a small smile touched his lips. "Thank you, Travis."


End file.
